the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and wassurmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock'stail. They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was onewho seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with aweather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt andhanger, high crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeledshoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figuresin an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, thevillage parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at thetime of the settlement.
What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folkswere evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravestfaces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the mostmelancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothinginterrupted the stillness of the scene but the noise of the balls,which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains likerumbling peals of thunder.
As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desistedfrom their play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze,and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre countenances, that his heartturned within him, and his knees smote together. His companion nowemptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signsto him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling;they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned totheir game.
By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured,when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which hefound had much of the flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally athirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One tasteprovoked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon sooften that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in hishead, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.
On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had firstseen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes- it was a brightsunny morning. The birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes,and the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountainbreeze. "Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." Herecalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with akeg of liquor- the mountain ravine- the wild retreat among therocks- the wobegone party at nine-pins- the flagon- "Oh! thatflagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip- "what excuse shall I make toDame Van Winkle!"He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiledfowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrelincrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten.
He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put atrick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him ofhis gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed awayafter a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted hisname, 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, andif he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he roseto walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in hisusual activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thoughtRip, "and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of therheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." Withsome difficulty he got down into the glen: he found the gully up whichhe and his companion had ascended the preceding evening; but to hisastonishment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping fromrock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however,made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome waythrough thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimestripped up or entangled by the wild grapevines that twisted theircoils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network inhis path.
At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through thecliffs to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening remained.
The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall over which the torrentcame tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broaddeep basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding forest. Here,then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called and whistledafter his dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idlecrows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunnyprecipice; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down andscoff at the poor man's perplexities. What was to be done? the morningwas passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast.
He grieved to give up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife;but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook hishead, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of troubleand anxiety, turned his steps homeward.
As he approached the village he met a number of people, but nonewhom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himselfacquainted with every one in the country round. Their dress, too,was of a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed.
They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever theycast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constantrecurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same,when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!