The Legend of Sleepy Hollow | Page 9

broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its
viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head
like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with
burs; 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 mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of
Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the
choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very
probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and
broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him
than in any young filly in the country.

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short
stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle;
his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip
perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, 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, for so his scanty strip of
forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out
almost to the horses tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his
steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was
altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad
daylight.
It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene,
and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate
with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown
and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by
the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming
files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the
bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and
hickory- nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the
neighboring stubble field.
The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of
their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush,
and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around
them. There was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling
sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds
flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with his
crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the
cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little
monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his
gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering,
nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms
with every songster of the grove.
As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every
symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures

of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some
hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into
baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the
cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its
golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the
promise of cakes and hasty- pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying
beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving
ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the
fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he
beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks,
well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little
dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.
Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared
suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which
look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The
sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down in the west. The wide
bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that
here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue
shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky,
without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden
tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the
deep blue of the mid- heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody
crests of the precipices