Have you heard of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow?
I was looking at church records from Philipsburgh Manor in Westchester County, NY, since that is where our ancestor John B. Acker said he was from (see Parts 1 and 2 in Acker Series, see Acker Pedigree Chart). The records are partially written in Dutch, which is actually pretty easy to read, once you know that Kind means child and gedoopt means baptized. The records collection is called both Record Book of the Old Dutch Church of Sleepy Hollow and Dutch Reformed Church Records of First Tarrytown Church. I remembered that the Headless Horseman chased Ichabod Crane thru the graveyard of the Old Dutch Church, so I looked to see how many Dutch churches there were in Westchester County, and how far Philipsburgh, Tarrytown, and Sleepy Hollow are from each other.
The Headless Horseman is good for the tourist trade
Come to find out, there is only one Dutch church, and it is old, having been built in 1697. When more churches were built, their services were conducted in English. And Philipsburgh, Tarrytown, and Sleepy Hollow are basically the same place, called different names at different times.
Washington Irving, author of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip van Winkle, was a New Yorker who spent his teenage years and a great deal of time in Tarrytown. He is considered the first American modern author, who wrote to entertain people, using different funny pseudonyms. Irving collected folk tales everywhere he went, and it is difficult to distinguish fiction from fact in his writings. Therefore, I am not sure if his house in Tarrytown, named Sunnyside, really belonged to our ancestor Wolfert Acker and was originally called Wolfert's Roost, or not. It is a tourist attraction, but was closed when we were there.
Irving is responsible for New York City's nickname of Gotham, which Batman calls it. In one comic story, he gave it that name, meaning Goat's Home. One of his pen names, Dietrich Knickerbocker, is the reason that New Yorkers are called Knickerbockers and their basketball team has that name, shortened to Knicks. Irving was the first to have St. Nicholas fly over the land in his flying wagon at Christmas. And he is why we think people during Columbus's time believed the earth was flat (wrong!)
So before we visit our ancestors' graves at the Old Dutch Church, I thought I would introduce the village as Irving saw it, 40 years after Esther and John Acker left. His story is detailed and funny, and leaves us to decide for ourselves what really happened...
Excerpted from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, 1830
...In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, ...there lies a small market town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic...
From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow... A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere... Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions...
The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, ... is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts ... extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church...the most authentic historians of those parts, ...allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak. ... the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
...Ichabod Crane... “tarried,” in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children.... He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for ... some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
...on holiday afternoons [Ichabod] would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard,... for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda.
...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....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... brooks .. bridges ... 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...
Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer...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 [flirt], ... even in her dress, which was a mixture of... 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 [Holland]; the tempting [blouse] ... and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. ... it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in [Ichabod's] eyes...
...[His] mouth watered as he looked upon [the Van Tassel] 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 ...a necklace of savory sausages... his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these...and 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.
...Ichabod...had to win his way to the heart of a country [tease]... with a labyrinth of whims and [pretenses] ... and ... fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, ... keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other... 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 doublejointed, 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...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... 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.
From the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of [Brom Bones] evidently declined: his horse was no longer seen tied [at Katrina's house]on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the [teacher]of Sleepy Hollow.
...[Ichabod] had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would “double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;” and he was too wary to give him an opportunity. ...[Brom] played 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...school by stopping up the chimney; broke into the schoolhouse at night, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there.
...An invitation [came] to Ichabod to attend a merrymaking or “quilting frolic,” to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel’s...That he might make his appearance before [Katrina] in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated... a broken-down plowhorse, 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 burrs; 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. ...Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage.
...Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing... The lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.
When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who sat smoking... gossiping...The tale was told of old Brouwer,... how he met the Horseman returning from...Sleepy Hollow, and was {forced to ride] behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder. This story was immediately matched by... Brom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey... he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.
Ichabod...[was]fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success. What passed at this interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know. Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly sallied forth...with an air quite desolate and chapfallen....Could that girl have been playing off any of her [flirty] tricks? Was her encouragement of the poor [teacher] all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady’s heart...he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which [the horse] was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover....
It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travels homewards...All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. 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 dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller. The hair of the affrighted [teacher] 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.
He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He...kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder.... 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 [the reins] up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind,—the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him...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 his 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 spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound.
.... “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 ...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 ...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; ...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....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 ...came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the Galloping Hessian.
It is true, an old farmer, who had been 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 partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress.... 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 schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate [teacher]... and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied [hearing a] voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy ...tune among the tranquil ... Sleepy Hollow.
The Headless Horseman tethers his steed among our ancestors' graves.References and Further Reading:
The original folktale Irving used as his inspiration can be found here: https://www.americanfolklore.net/the-headless-horseman/
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Washington_Irving
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Headless_Horseman_Pursuing_Ichabod_Crane
https://hudsonvalley.org/historic-sites/washington-irvings-sunnyside/#info
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