From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed byhis termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon thetranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to naught; norwas that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from thedaring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright withencouraging her husband in habits of idleness.
Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his onlyalternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of hiswife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Herehe would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share thecontents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as afellow-sufferer in persecution. "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thymistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilstI live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf wouldwag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs canfeel pity I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with allhis heart.
In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip hadunconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskillmountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel shooting, andthe still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of hisgun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, ona green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow ofa precipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook allthe lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at adistance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on its silentbut majestic course, with the reflection of a purple cloud, or thesail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom,and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.
On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild,lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from theimpending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of thesetting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening wasgradually advancing; the mountains began to throw their long blueshadows over the valleys; he saw that it would be dark long beforehe could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thoughtof encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.
As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance,hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked round, butcould see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across themountain. He thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turnedagain to descend, when he heard the same cry ring through the stillevening air; "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!"- at the same timeWolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to hismaster's side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt avague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in thesame direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up therocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on hisback. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely andunfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of theneighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.
On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity ofthe stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow,with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of theantique Dutch fashion- a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist-several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume, decoratedwith rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He boreon his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and madesigns for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Thoughrather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied withhis usual alacrity; and mutually relieving one another, they clamberedup a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a mountain torrent. Asthey ascended, Rip every now and then heard long rolling peals, likedistant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, orrather cleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged pathconducted. He paused for an instant, but supposing it to be themuttering of one of those transient thunder-showers which often takeplace in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine,they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded byperpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which impending treesshot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the azure skyand the bright evening cloud. During the whole time Rip and hiscompanion had labored on in silence; for though the former marvelledgreatly what could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up thiswild mountain, yet there was something strange and incomprehensibleabout the unknown, that inspired awe and checked familiarity.
On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presentedthemselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-lookingpersonages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaintoutlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, withlong knives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, ofsimilar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, werepeculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes:
