The Cecil Whig., 1873-10-18
(Concluded.) J


When the dance was at an end, Ichabod
was attracted to knot of the sager folks,
who, with old Van Tassel, sat smoking at
one end of the piazza, gossiping over form
er times, and drawing out long stories
about the war.
This neighborhood, at the time of which
1 am speaking, was one of those highly
favored places which abound with chronicle
and great men. The British and Amer-
can line had run near it during the war;
it had, therefore, been the scene of ma
rauding, and infested with refugees, cow
boys, and all kinds of border chivalry.-
Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable
each story teller to dress up his tale with a
little becoming fiction, and, in the indis-
tinctness of his recollection, to make HIM
self the hero Of every exploit.
There was the story of Doffue Martling,
large blue bearded Dutchman, who had
nearly taken British frigate with an old
nine FOUNDER from a mud breastwork, only
that his gun burst at the sixth discharge.
And there was an old gentleman who shall
be namelcss, being too rich mynheer to
be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of
White PLANES, being an excellent master
of defence, parried musket-ball with a
small sword, insomuch that he absolutely
felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off
at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready
-. Al
hilt a little bent. There were several more
that had been equally great in the field,
not one of whom but was persuaded that
he had a considerable hand in bringing the
war to happy termination.
But all these were nothing to the tales
of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded.
The neighborhood is rich in legendary
treasures Of the kind. Local tales and
superstition thrive best in these sheltered
long settled retreats; but are trampled
underfoot by the shifting throng that forms
the population of most of our country
places. Besides, there is no encourage
ment for ghosts in most of our villages,
for they have scarcely had time to finish
their first nap, and turn themselves in their
graves before their surviving friends have
travelled away from the neighborhood; so
that when they turn out at night to walk
their rounds, they have no acquaintance
left to call upon. This is perhaps the rea
son why we SO seldom hear Of ghosts, ex-
ceps in our long established Dutch COM
munities.
The immediate cause, however, of the
prevalence of supernatural stories in these
parts was doubtless owing to the vicinity
of Sleepy Hollow. There was contagion
in the very air that blew from that haunted
region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of
dreams and fancies injecting all the land.
Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were
present at Van Tassell's, and, as usual
were doling out their wild and wonderful
legends. Many dismal tales were told about
funeral trains, and mourning cries and
wailings heard and seen about the great
tree where the unfortunate Major Andre
was taken, and which stood in the neigh
borhood. Some mention was made also of
the woman in white, that haunted the
dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often
heard to shrek on winter nights before a
storm, having perished there in the snow.
The chief part of the stories, however,
turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy
Hollow, the headless horseman, who had
been heard several times of late, patrolling
the country, and, it was said, tethered his
horse nightly among the graves in the
churchyard.
The sequestered situation of this church
seems always to have made it favorite
haunt of troubled spirits. 1t stands on
knoll, surrounded by loonst-trees and lofty
elms, from among which its decent white
washed walls shine modestly forth, like
Christian purity beaming through the
shades Of retirement. A gentle slope de-
scends from it to silver sheet of water,
bordered by high trees, between which,
peeps may be caught at the blue hills of
the Hudson. To look upon its grass
grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to
sleep SO quietly, one would think that
there at least the dead might rest in peace.
On one side of the church extends wide
woody dell, along which raves a large
brook among broken rocks and trunks of
fallen trees. Over deep black part of the
stream, not far from the church, was form
erly thrown wood bridge; the road that
led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly
shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a
gloom about it, even in the daytime, but
occasioned fearful darkness at night.
This was one of the favorite haunts of the
headless horseman; and the place where lie
was most frequently encountered. The
tale was told of old Brouwer, a most here
tical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the