The Sleepy Hollow Papers: Variations on a Legend

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Being Additional Fragments Found Among the Effects of Diedrich Knickerbocker

In sorting through the remaining papers of our late antiquarian friend Diedrich Knickerbocker, we have discovered several curious documents relating to the celebrated tale of Sleepy Hollow. These fragments—some written in his own careful hand, others transcribed from various informants—reveal how the legend of the Headless Horseman evolved in the telling, each narrator adding their own flourishes to the tale.

It appears Knickerbocker was something of a collector of these variations, noting in his margins how the story shifted depending upon who told it, when it was told, and to what purpose. We present these fragments not as corrections to the established account, but as windows into how folklore lives and breathes in the mouths of its keepers.

As told to D. Knickerbocker on a winter evening, 1809

“Ach, but you have it all wrong about that schoolmaster,” said the old woman, her knitting needles clicking like bones in the firelight. “My grandmother, she knew the real story. This Ichabod, he was not the first to meet our Horseman on that bridge.

“There was before him a young dominee—a preacher man—who came from the city thinking to rid our valley of such superstitions. Every Sunday he would thunder from the pulpit about the foolishness of ghost stories. ‘Show me this headless rider,’ he would say, ‘and I will show you the Devil’s work!’

“Well, the Horseman, he does not like to be called foolish, you understand. So one night when this dominee was riding home from visiting the sick, there comes the sound of hoofbeats behind him. The preacher, he turns around and sees—nothing. But the sound, it gets closer, closer, until his horse begins to foam and tremble.

“When they found him the next morning, his hair had turned white as Sunday linen, and he could speak nothing but Dutch prayers he had never learned. He left our valley that very day and never returned.

“So you see, when this Ichabod came with his books and his singing lessons, we knew already what would happen. The Horseman, he protects our stories. He does not like those who would explain them away.”

Knickerbocker’s note: The dominee mentioned may have been Rev. Johannes Van Der Berg, who served briefly at the Old Dutch Church circa 1798. Parish records show his sudden departure, attributed to “nervous exhaustion.”

From a conversation at Greenberg’s tavern, recorded 1810

Hans the blacksmith was deep in his cups when he began to speak of the night Ichabod Crane vanished. His account differs markedly from the commonly accepted version:

“You want to know what really happened to that scarecrow of a schoolmaster? I’ll tell you what happened—Brom Bones finally got tired of his competition.

“See, I was the one what shod Brom’s horse that very afternoon. Big black Daredevil, strong as three ordinary horses. But Brom, he asks me to do something peculiar. ‘Hans,’ says he, ‘can you make the shoes silent?’

“Silent shoes? What kind of nonsense is that, I ask him. But Brom, he shows me silver coins—real Spanish silver—and says it’s for a prank on the schoolmaster. So I wrap Daredevil’s hooves in leather and wool, thick as a man’s thumb.

“Later that night, I hear hoofbeats on the road—but only one set, mind you. And they make no sound when they should, like a ghost horse might run. In the morning, there’s Daredevil in his stall, lathered and tired, with bits of pumpkin in his mane.

“Brom Bones married his Katrina quick after that, and when folks would ask about the schoolmaster, he’d just smile and say the Horseman claimed another victim. But I knew better. The only headless thing that night was the jack-o’-lantern Brom threw at poor Ichabod.”

Knickerbocker’s note: Hans is known for his fondness for rum and elaborate tales. However, records show Brom Van Brunt did indeed visit the smithy on October 30th, 1790.

Collected from the pupils of Sleepy Hollow School, 1811

The children of the valley have their own version of events, passed down in playground whispers and sung to the rhythm of jump-rope games:

Ichabod, Ichabod, long and thin,Came to our valley with books and hymns.Thought himself clever, thought himself wise,Till the Horseman came calling with fire in his eyes.

Katrina was pretty, Katrina was sweet,Made the schoolmaster’s heart skip a beat.But Brom Bones was stronger, Brom Bones was sly,And somebody’s head was gonna fly!

On Halloween night when the moon was bright,The Horseman went riding to give such a fright.Some say ’twas a pumpkin, some say ’twas his head,But Ichabod Crane wound up good and dead!

Now when teachers get uppity, thinking they’re smart,The Horseman comes back to play his part.So mind your lessons but don’t get too proud,Or you’ll join old Ichabod under the shroud!

Knickerbocker’s note: Children’s rhymes often preserve older truths in simplified form. The reference to “fire in his eyes” appears in no adult account I have collected.

As recorded at the Tarry Town Inn, 1812

“My father ran this inn when the schoolmaster disappeared,” said Jacob Martling, polishing a pewter mug with unusual vigor. “He always said there was more to that night than folks let on.

“See, Ichabod came here first, before he went to the Van Tassel party. Nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm, he was. Kept looking over his shoulder and asking about the roads. ‘Are there any… unusual travelers tonight?’ he asks my father.

“Well, father tells him about old Gunpowder—that broken-down horse he’d borrowed—and how the beast was afraid of shadows. ‘Maybe you should stay the night here,’ father suggests. But Ichabod, he’s got his heart set on courting, so off he goes.

“But here’s the strange part—about midnight, we hear horses. Not one horse, mind you, but several. And voices, talking low and urgent-like. My father, he peeks out the window and sees three riders in the yard. One of them is tall and thin like the schoolmaster, but his head is covered with a dark cloak.

“The next morning, Gunpowder comes back alone, and everyone assumes the Horseman got poor Ichabod. But my father always wondered—maybe the schoolmaster just decided he’d had enough of Sleepy Hollow. Maybe those midnight riders were helping him start fresh somewhere else.

“After all, a man can lose his head in more ways than one, if you catch my meaning.”

Knickerbocker’s note: Martling’s Inn records from that period have unfortunately been lost to fire. The suggestion of accomplices is intriguing but unverifiable.

Found among her personal effects, 1820

The following letter was discovered sealed among the papers of Katrina Van Tassel’s mother, apparently never sent:

“My Dear Sister,

You ask me to tell you truly what happened the night that strange schoolmaster vanished from our valley. I have kept silent these many years, but perhaps it is time the women’s side of this tale was told.

The truth is, we saw it coming from miles away. That poor Ichabod, so awkward and earnest, thinking he could win our Katrina with his book learning and his psalm singing. But our Katrina, she had already given her heart to Brom Bones, headstrong and wild as he was.

The night of our harvest party, I watched the two men circle each other like roosters in a yard. Brom told his ghost stories louder and more frightfully than usual, seeing how they made the schoolmaster pale. And Ichabod, bless him, tried to match them with tales from his books, not understanding that our valley has its own way of dealing with outsiders who presume too much.

After the party, when folks had gone home, Katrina came to me crying. ‘Mama,’ she said, ‘I was cruel to poor Ichabod tonight. I let him think he had a chance because I enjoyed the attention. But I could never marry such a man.’

I told her it was a young woman’s privilege to change her mind, but she shook her head. ‘No, Mama. He’ll keep hoping, keep hanging about, making things awkward for everyone. Something must be done.’

I never asked what she meant by that. But I noticed Brom Bones stayed unusually close to our house that evening, and when morning came, our problem had solved itself.

Sometimes the kindest thing is to let a man keep his illusions, even if it means losing his head over them.

*Your devoted sister,Lucretia Van Tassel”

Knickerbocker’s note: This casts an entirely different light on the events. Were the women of Sleepy Hollow more involved than previously supposed?

Recorded at Pocantico Hills, 1815

“I was coming through your valley that Halloween night,” said the peddler, adjusting his pack. “Terrible night for traveling, with the wind howling and the branches creaking like ship’s rigging. But business is business, and I had goods to deliver in Tarry Town.

“Well, I’m riding along that cursed stretch near the church when I hear the most peculiar thing—laughter. Not the ghostly wailing you’d expect from a specter, but genuine human laughter, rich and hearty.

“I duck behind some trees, not wanting to be seen by whatever’s making merry in such a place, and what do I see but three figures on horseback. One of them has something round tucked under his arm—could have been a head, could have been a pumpkin, hard to tell in the moonlight.

“They’re passing something back and forth—a bottle, looked like—and having themselves a grand time. One of them says, ‘Well, that’s the last we’ll see of singing lessons in Sleepy Hollow!’ and they all burst out laughing again.

“Then one of them—the biggest one—takes that round thing and hurls it toward the bridge with all his might. It hits something with a mighty thump, and I hear a voice cry out in fright. Not a ghostly moan, mind you, but a very human yelp of terror.

“After that, two of the riders head back toward town, still chuckling, while the third—the tall, thin one—rides off in the opposite direction, toward the turnpike that leads to New York.

“Now, I’m not saying there wasn’t supernatural doings that night. But I am saying that sometimes the most frightening apparitions turn out to be very much alive, and very much in cahoots with each other.”

Knickerbocker’s note: This account suggests a conspiracy involving multiple parties. Could the “supernatural” encounter have been entirely staged?

In reviewing these various accounts, one is struck by how each telling serves the teller’s purpose. The old Dutch woman uses the tale to warn against dismissing ancient beliefs. The blacksmith suggests earthly trickery. The children transform it into a cautionary rhyme about the dangers of pride. The innkeeper hints at escape rather than demise. The mother reveals feminine complicity. The peddler proposes elaborate conspiracy.

Which version contains the truth? Perhaps they all do, in their fashion. For legends are not mere records of fact, but vessels for the fears, hopes, and wisdom of those who keep them alive. The Headless Horseman serves Sleepy Hollow not by being real or unreal, but by being necessary—a guardian of the valley’s mysteries, a reminder that some things cannot be explained away by books or reason.

Whether Ichabod Crane met his end by supernatural means, fell victim to an elaborate prank, or simply seized the opportunity to disappear into a wider world, his story continues to serve its purpose. It keeps the children respectful of their elders’ wisdom, reminds young men that some prizes are not meant for them, and preserves the delicious possibility that in certain corners of this rational world, the impossible might still gallop by on a moonless night.

As for the truth of what happened that Halloween evening in 1790, perhaps it lies not in any single account, but in the space between them—in the very act of telling and retelling, each narrator adding their own thread to a tapestry that grows richer and more mysterious with each passing year.

—D. Knickerbocker’s final notes, found loose among his papers

The Sleepy Hollow Papers™ is a work of fiction inspired by The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving.

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