The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

The same old move.

Always the same old move.

It's never gonna change, is it?

Well, are you going to play or what?

Will you be wanting dinner, sir?

There's a great leg of mutton tonight,

and perhaps a flagon of beer to go with your meal?

Thank you, missus.

Uh, what is it you're doing, mister?

Is you gonna draw pictures like young Leonard there?

No, sir.

It is a kind of journal I keep of my travels,

and this seems to be a good night

and a good place to catch it up.

I'll have your dinner in a thrice, sir.

Thank you.

Would you like to eat in peace?

Just say the word.

Not at all.

I'm glad of the company.

A journal, is it?

You hear that, boys?

He keeps a journal.

What is a journal, sir, if you don't mind me asking?

I don't mind in the least.

It's a kind of diary of stories

I hear from people I meet.

Hear that?

It's stories he wants.

Well, you've come to the right place.

Have I?

Then this ill wind has blown me some good after all.

Well, it blows you into Tarrytown on the Tappan Zee.

Tarrytown?

Sounds like a sleepy place.

Yep.

The good Dutch farmers who settled this place

used to tarry here over a pint and a pipe

and swap tall tales on market day.

That's how the town got its name.

Uh, what -- what are you gonna do with all these stories?

More what I hope to do, sir.

It is my ambition to publish a book of them someday.

A book. A book. A book.

Thank you, my good woman.

My pleasure, sir.

And if I may, I'd be careful putting anything this lot

has to say in any book.

What do you want to make a book for?

The good ol' tall tales is best told out loud

the way we heard 'em.

A fair question, sir.

It's going on 50 years and more even since the war,

and the stories people tell of those times

will all soon be forgotten if we don't write them down.

Oh, he's got a point there.

When we're gone, who'll be left to tell any tales at all?

I can't even remember my name.

Well, I'd be glad to stand around

for the pleasure of hearing any tales you do remember.

My own father was one of the men that hung

Major Andre from the tulip tree

right here in Sleepy Hollow.

I remember it very well.

He was a British spy

pretending he was sent here by General Washington hisself.

Well, sir, my father seen that he was wearin'

British officer boots,

and they had a good look at his pockets,

and they come up with a note written by that traitor

Benedict Arnold.

Well, sir, they forward marched him

right over to the tulip tree,

and they strung him up right there.

Would you like to hear that tale?

I would indeed.

You just did.

And an excellent tale it is, thank you.

It weren't the tulip tree.

It was the old oak.

And how would you know it?

Your pap wasn't there, was he?

Oh, no, he weren't.

But I was there meself.

Not 17 yet.

It was in the fall of '76.

When I told it it was a true tale.

Now that you stuck your oar in it,

it's just nothin' but an another tall tale.

I'd gladly give you paper from my journal,

if you'd show me what you've been drawing

all this time on that scrap of butcher's paper.

And who would this be?

That would be Mr. Ichabod Crane.

- Yeah. - -Couldn't be no other.

Aye, that's him.

It's as if Leonard has seen him in the flesh itself.

It seems Leonard thinks there's a tale

to be told about this Mr. Crane.

Oh, aye, and so there is.

And I'll be the one to tell it.

As for the rest of you, you were nothin'

but a bunch of runny-nosed brats,

if you ever saw the man or not.

Ichabod Crane -- the only man to be taken outright

from this world by the headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

Now, that does sound like a good tale.

Just showed up on the Sleepy Hollow Road

one day in the spring of...

'91.

A Yankee out of Connecticut, or so he said.

Lookin' for work as a school teacher,

or so he said.

Or so he said.

Aah!

Good morning.

Good morning.

There he is! Look!

He moves! The scarecrow.

You see, I'm not a liar.

Whoa!

Ah, good day to you, gentlemen.

I wonder if you'd be so kind as to direct me to the home

of a Mr. Hans Van Ripper.

- Wow! - Here you go.

Go on, now.

Let's go, fellas!

And what business have you with him, stranger?

I have it from a man I met up river

that there might be a position for a man of letters

as headmaster of the Sleepy Hollow school.

I am told that Mr. Van ripper is the superintendent.

You may mock me, my good young man,

but I assure you no better candidate is likely to be found.

I wasn't laughing at you, friend.

Just at the idea anyone would want the job.

But I'd say you're just the man for it, if anyone is.

Wouldn't you, boys?

It's straight on a quarter mile.

You'll come to a path.

There's a sign there for those who can read.

I'm told it says Van Ripper Farm.

I need some more, Will.

Ooh!

It's a hot one, I must say.

No doubt that is the famous

Dutch ale of these parts that you're enjoying there.

Best beer this side of Amsterdam.

You don't suppose you could make me

the loan of the price of a glass?

I'd be only too happy to repay you once I've had my salary.

Well, now, I'd be glad to.

Except I'd hate to send you on your way

with the devil brew on your breath.

Old Van Ripper's got no use for a man

who takes any pleasure in life, if you take my meaning.

Oh, well, I --

I thank you for your wise counsel, young man.

But surely a glass of beer on a hot day would not offend him.

Suit yourself, mister.

But I wouldn't tarry if I was you.

You don't want to be stumbling around

Sleepy Hollow after dark.

There's all manner of spooks and sprites in these woods.

Ah, yes, the local imps and goblins.

Well, this wouldn't be the first town

I've been to that prides itself on such superstitions.

Although, I've found it's usually only the local townsfolk

who ever see any of them.

Maybe so.

But you Ain't never been in Sleepy Hollow before.

True enough.

Well, I'll consider myself warned, then.

Oh, I thank you for your hospitality,

and I look forward to the day I can repay it.

Fancies himself, don't he, boys?

Excuse me, sir.

Would you be Hans Van Ripper,

superintendent of Sleepy Hollow School?

You a government man?

Ichabod Crane, sir, late of Hartford, Connecticut,

come to seek the position of master of the school.

A Yankee. Heh!

What brings you here?

Well, as I say, sir, I'm offering the benefits

of my hard-won erudition

in molding the minds of your fine young students.

Does that mean you can read and write?

Indeed, sir.

Now, here I have Mr. Noah Webster's speller,

and a primer of arithmetic,

and, uh, the Scottish Psaltery and Chorister

consisting of the songs by the inestimable

Mr. Thomas Sternhold,

and lastly, my most cherished possession...

The Reverend Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft

in New England.

Now, I assure you, sir,

I have read all 4 of these tomes, all through.

You can do sums?