The Short-story | Page 9

conducted. He
paused for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of
those transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain
heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a
hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular
precipices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches,
so that you only caught glimpses of the azure sky and the bright
evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and his companion had
labored on in silence; for though the former marvelled greatly what
could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain,
yet there was something strange and incomprehensible about the

unknown, that inspired awe and checked familiarity.
On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented
themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of
odd-looking personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a
quaint outlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins,
with long knives in their belts, and most of them had enormous
breeches, of similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too,
were peculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes:
the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was
surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat set off with a little red cock's tail.
They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who
seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a
weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and
hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled
shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures
in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the
village parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the
time of the settlement.
What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks were
evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces,
the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy
party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the
stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they
were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rumbling peals of
thunder.
As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted
from their play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze, and
such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heart turned
within him, and his knees smote together. His companion now emptied
the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to
wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they
quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.
By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured,
when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found

had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty
soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked
another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at length
his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head
gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.
On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first
seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes--it was a bright sunny
morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes, and
the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze.
"Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled the
occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with a keg of
liquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among the rocks--the
woe-begone party at nine-pins--the flagon--"Oh! that flagon! that
wicked flagon!" thought Rip--"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van
Winkle!"
He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiled
fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel
incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He
now suspected that the grave roysters of the mountain had put a trick
upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of his
gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a
squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but
all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog was to
be seen.
He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and if
he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to
walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual
activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip,
"and if