Part 27

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded 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 cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor 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 black 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 with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind—the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, 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 the saddle: his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping, by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip—but the specter started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse’s head, in the eagerness of his flight.

They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old 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 Hans Van Ripper’s wrath passed across his mind—for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain 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 he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bone’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “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 convulsive 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, according to rule, 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 endeavored 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 school-house, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to 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. Hans Van Ripper, as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shorts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy smallclothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of dogs’ ears; and a broken pitchpipe. As to the books and furniture of the school-house, they belonged to the community, excepting Cotton Mather’s History of Witchcraft, a New England Almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper; who from that time forward determined to send his children no more to school; observing, that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter’s pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his person at the time of his disappearance.

The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others, were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody’s debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him. The school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his stead.

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood, partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time, had been admitted to the bar, turned politician, electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally had been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who shortly after his rival’s disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly 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 suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.

The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe, and that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the mill-pond. The school-house being deserted, soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue; and the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.

[4] The whip-poor-will is a bird which is only heard at night. It receives its name from its note, which is thought to resemble those words.

THE HARE WHO THOUGHT THE WORLD HAD COME TO AN END

Translated by H. N. Francis

Once upon a time there was near the Western Ocean a grove of palm and vilva trees. A certain Hare lived here beneath a palm sapling, at the foot of a vilva tree. One day this Hare after feeding came and lay down beneath a young palm tree, and the thought struck him: “If this earth should be destroyed, what would become of me?”

At this very moment a ripe vilva fruit fell on a palm leaf. At the sound of it the Hare suddenly thought, “This solid earth is collapsing,” and starting up he fled without so much as looking behind him.

Another Hare saw him scampering off as if frightened to death, and asked the cause of his sudden flight. “Pray don’t ask me,” he said. The second Hare, followed, crying, “Pray, sir, what is it?” and kept running after him.

Then the Hare stopped a moment and, without looking back, he said, “The earth here is breaking up.” And at this the second Hare ran after the first. And then first one and then another Hare caught sight of him running and joined in the chase, till one hundred thousand Hares all took their flight together. They were seen by a Deer, a Boar, an Elk, a Buffalo, a Wild Ox, a Rhinoceros, a Tiger, a Lion and an Elephant. And when they asked what it meant and were told that the earth was breaking up, they too took to flight. By degrees this host of animals was a league long.

A wise Brahmin who saw this headlong flight of animals, and was told that the cause of it was that the earth was coming to an end, thought: “The earth is nowhere coming to an end. Surely it must be some sound which was misunderstood by them. If I don’t make a great effort they will all perish. I will save their lives.” With the speed of a lion he got before them to the foot of a mountain, and roared three times like a lion. They were terribly frightened and stopped in their flight, standing all huddled together. The Brahmin, in the guise of a Lion, went amongst them and asked why they were running away.

“The earth is collapsing,” they answered.

“Who saw it collapsing?” he said.

“The Elephants know all about it,” they replied. He asked the Elephants, but they didn’t know. They said the Lions knew. But the Lions said, “We don’t know; the Tigers know.” The Tigers said, “The Wild Oxen know.” The Wild Oxen, “The Buffaloes.” The Buffaloes, “The Elks.” The Elks, “The Boars.” The Boars, “The Deer.” The Deer said, “We don’t know; the Hares know.” When the Hares were questioned they pointed to one particular Hare and said, “This one told us.”

So the Brahmin went up to him and asked, “Is it true, sir, that the earth is breaking up?”

“Yes, sir, I saw it,” said the Hare.

“Where,” he asked, “were you living when you saw it?”

“Near the ocean, sir, in a grove of palm and vilva trees. As I was lying beneath the shade of a palm sapling at the foot of a vilva tree, I thought, ‘If this earth should break up, where shall I go?’ And at that very moment I heard the sound of the earth breaking up, and I fled.”

The Lion thought to himself: “A ripe vilva fruit evidently must have fallen on a palm leaf and made a ‘thud,’ and this Hare jumped to the conclusion that the earth was coming to an end, and ran away. I will find out the exact truth about it.” So he reassured the herd of animals and said: “I will take the Hare and go and find out exactly whether the earth is coming to an end or not, in the place pointed out by him. Until I return do you stay here.” Then, placing the Hare on his back, he sprang forward with the speed of a lion, and putting the Hare down in a palm grove, he said, “Come, show us the place you meant.”

“I dare not, my lord,” said the Hare.

“Come, don’t be afraid,” said the Lion. The Hare, not daring to go near the vilva tree, stood afar off and cried, “Yonder, sir, is the place of dreadful sounds.”

The Lion went to the foot of the vilva tree, and saw the spot where the Hare had been lying beneath the shade of the palm tree, and the ripe vilva fruit that fell on the palm leaf, and having ascertained that the earth had not broken up, he placed the Hare on his back and with the speed of a lion soon came again to the herd of beasts.

He told them the whole story, and having thus reassured the herd of beasts he let them go.

THE WATERING OF THE SAPLINGS

Translated by Rev. W. H. D. Rouse

Once upon a time a king named Vissasena was reigning over the city of Benares, and proclamation was made of a holiday. The park-keeper thought he would take a holiday, so, calling the Monkeys that lived in the park, he said:

“This park is a great blessing to you. I want to take a week’s holiday. Will you water the saplings on the seventh day?” “Oh, yes,” they said. He gave them the watering skins, and went away.

The Monkeys drew water and began to water the roots, when the eldest Monkey cried out:

“Wait, now! It’s hard to get water. We must not waste it. Let us pull up the plants, and notice the length of their roots; if they have long roots, they need plenty of water; but short ones need but a little.”

“True, true,” they agreed; so some of them pulled up the plants while others put them back and watered them.

“Who bids you do that?” asked a young gentleman living in Benares.

“Our chief,” they replied.

To this the young gentleman answered:

“If he was chosen as the best, What sort of creatures are the rest!”

Whereat the Monkeys repeated:

“Brahmin, you know not what you say Blaming us in such a way! If the root we do not know, How can we tell the trees that grow?”

THE OLD HARE AND THE ELEPHANTS

Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold

Once on a time very little rain had fallen in the due season; and the Elephants, being oppressed with thirst, thus addressed their leader: “Master, how are we to live? The small creatures find something to wash in, but we cannot, and we are half dead in consequence; whither shall we go then, and what shall we do?”

Upon that the King of the Elephants led them away a little distance and showed them a beautiful pool of water clear as crystal, where they took their ease.

Now it chanced that a company of Hares resided on the banks of the pool and the going and coming of the Elephants trampled many of them to death, till one of their number grumbled out, “This troop will be coming here to water every day, and every one of our family will be crushed.”

“Do not disquiet yourself,” said an old Buck Hare named Good-speed; “I will manage to stop it,” and so saying, he set off bethinking himself on his way how he should approach and accost a herd of Elephants; for

Elephants destroy by touching, snakes with point of tooth beguile; Kings by favor kill, and traitors murder with a fatal smile.

“I will get on the top of a hill,” he thought, “and address the Elephants from there.”

This being done, and the lord of the herd perceiving him, it was asked of the Hare, “Who art thou? and whence comest thou?”

“I am an ambassador from His Godship the Moon,” replied Good-speed.

“State your business,” said the Elephant King.

“Sire,” began the Hare, “an ambassador speaks the truth safely by reason of his position. Thus saith the Moon then: “These Hares were the guardians of my pool, and thine Elephants in coming here have scared them away. This is not well. Am I not “S’às’anka” whose banner bears a hare, and are not these Hares my followers?” “Please your worship,” said the Elephant King with much fear, “we knew nothing of this; we will go there no more.”

“It were well,” said the make-believe ambassador, “that you first make your apologies to the God, who is quaking with rage in his pool, and then went about your business.”

“We will do so,” replied the Elephant with meekness; and being led by night to the pool, in the ripples of which the image of the Moon was quivering, the herd made their prostrations; the Hare explaining to the Moon that their fault was committed in ignorance, and therefore they got their dismissal.

THE ELEPHANT HAS A BET WITH THE TIGER

By Walter Skeat, M.R.A.S., F.A.L.

In the beginning Gajah the Elephant and Rimau the Tiger were sworn friends. But one day they came to a clearing and presently encountered Lobong, the long-tailed Spectacle-Monkey. And when he saw the Monkey the Elephant said, “Mr. Lobong yonder is far too noisy; let us try and shake him off; if he falls to me I am to eat you; and if he falls to you, you are to eat me—we will make a wager of it.” The Tiger said, “Agreed?” and the Elephant replied, “Agreed.” “Very well!” said the Tiger; “you shall try and menace him first.” So the Elephant tried to menace the Monkey. “_Au! Au! Au!_” he trumpeted, and each time he trumpeted the Monkey was scared. But the Monkey went jumping head foremost through the branches and never fell to the ground at all.

Presently, therefore, the Tiger asked the Elephant, “Well, Friend Elephant, would you like to try your luck again?” But the Elephant said, “No, thank you. It shall be your turn now; and if he falls to you, you shall eat me—if you really can make him fall!”

Then the Tiger went and roared his longest and loudest and shortened his body as for a spring and growled and menaced the Monkey thrice. And the Monkey leaped and fell at the Tiger’s feet, for his feet and hands were paralyzed and would not grip the branches any more. Then the Tiger said, “Well, Friend Elephant, I suppose I may eat you now!” But the Elephant said, “You have, I admit, won the wager; but I beg you to grant me just seven days’ respite, to enable me to visit my wife and children and to make my will.” The Tiger granted the request, and the Elephant went home, bellowing and sobbing every foot of the way.

Now the Elephant’s wife heard the sound of her husband’s voice, and said to her children, “What can be the matter with your father that he keeps sobbing so?” And the children listened to make sure and said, “Yes, it really is father’s voice, the sobbing, and not that of anybody else.” Presently Father Elephant arrived, and Mother Elephant asked, “What were you sobbing for, father? What have you done to yourself?” Father Elephant replied, “I made a wager with Friend Tiger about shaking down a Monkey, and Friend Tiger beat me; I menaced the Monkey, but he did not fall; if he had fallen to me, I was to have eaten Friend Tiger, but if he fell to Friend Tiger, Friend Tiger was to eat me. I was beaten, and now Friend Tiger says he is going to eat me. So I begged leave to come home and see you, and he has given me just seven days’ respite.”

Now for the seven days Father Elephant kept sobbing aloud, and neither ate nor slept. And the thing came to the hearing of Friend Mouse-deer. “What can be the matter with Friend Elephant that he keeps bellowing and bellowing, neither does he sleep, so that night is turned into day, and day into night? What on earth is the matter with him? Suppose I go and see” (said the Mouse-deer). Then the Mouse-deer went to see what was wrong, and asked, “What is the matter with you, Friend Elephant, that we hear you bellowing and bellowing every single day and every single night, just now, too, when the Rams are upon us? You are far too noisy.”

But the Elephant said, “It is no mere empty noise, Friend Mouse-deer, I have got into a dreadful scrape.” “What sort of a scrape?” inquired the Mouse-deer. “I made a wager with Friend Tiger about shaking down a Monkey, and he beat me.” “What was the stake?” asked the Mouse-deer. “The stake was that Friend Tiger might eat me if Friend Tiger frightened it down; and if I frightened it down, I might eat Friend Tiger. It fell to Friend Tiger, and now Friend Tiger wants to eat me. And my reason for not eating or sleeping any more is that I have got only just seven days’ respite to go home and visit my wife and children and to make my will.” Then the Mouse-deer said, “If it came to Friend Tiger’s eating you, I should feel exceedingly sorrowful, exceedingly distressed; but things being only as you say, I feel neither.” “If you will assist me, I will become your slave, and my descendant shall be your slaves forever.” “Very well, if that is the case, I will assist you,” said the Mouse-deer. “Go and look for a jar full of molasses.” Friend Elephant promised to do so, and went to look for it at the house of a maker of Palm-wine. The owner of the house fled for his life, and the jar fell into Friend Elephant’s possession, who bore it back to the Mouse-deer.

Then Friend Mouse-deer said, “When does your promise expire?” and Friend Elephant replied, “To-morrow.” So when next morning arrived they started, and the Mouse-deer said, “Now pour the molasses over your back and let it spread and spread and run down your legs.” Friend Elephant did as he was ordered. Friend Mouse-deer then instructed the Elephant as follows: “As soon as I begin to lick up the molasses on your back, bellow as loud as you can and make believe to be hurt, and writhe and wriggle this way and that.”

And presently Friend Mouse-deer commenced to lick hard, and Friend Elephant writhed and wriggled and made believe to be hurt, and made a prodigious noise of trumpeting. In this way they proceeded and Friend Mouse-deer got up and sat astride upon Friend Elephant’s back. And the Elephant trumpeted and trumpeted all the way till they met with Friend Tiger. At this Friend Mouse-deer exclaimed, “A single Elephant is very short commons; if I could only catch that big and fat old Tiger there, it would be just enough to satisfy my hunger.”