One evening, Irving claims in Diedrich Knickerbocker’s History of New-York, Van Corlear received a call to travel out from Manhattan to trumpet up the local militia. Other sources place Anthony visiting with Onder Donck. Traveling back to Manhattan, perchance to meet with one of his adoring ladies, he discovered a raiding party of English and Indians headed for an outpost in northern Manhattan. Needing whatever military help he could muster, Anthony sought out the Dane Jonas Bronck. He cajoled the good burgher out of bed, and Bronck gathered his freemen, servants and slaves upon the banks near the Spuitende Duivel. Verveelen the ferryman was not to be found. Recalling times he’d waded across, Van Corlear urged the Bronck men to follow his lead by swimming to Manhattan.
“What about the devil who dwells within these waters when the tide changes?” admonished Bronck. Here Irving claims Anthony van Corlear “swore most valorously that he would swim across in Spyt den Duyvel.”
Plunging in the dark tide, Anthony swam, turned and beckoned to Bronck’s company to join him. Anthony saw terror twist their faces. “Fear not mynheers! The water’s fine.” It was not the waters that frightened the Bronck men but rather the rising monster emerging behind unsuspecting Anthony. Irving describes it as a “duyvel in the shape of a huge moss-bonker.” This creature was responsible for churning and spouting water when the tide pushed the rivers together. It may have snagged Anthony with immense crab claws or an unholy gaping mouth. Whatever means used, the devilish thing dragged the trumpeter under. Twice he fought back to the surface, while the Bronck men looked on paralyzed. Finally Anthony battled to get the brass horn to his lips. Blasting a warrior’s attack call, he frightened off those besieging the Dutch fort. The English and Indians fully believed Peg Leg Peter Stuyvesant approached with his army.
The fort was saved. Alas, Anthony was not. The devil took him under the whirlpools and waterspouts. Anthony van Corlear left behind a lamentation of heartbroken ladies and a lasting legacy in the Bronx. A protective spirit now, his immense red nose appears in the Harlem River. On the occasion when someone dares to disrespect the Bronx, Anthony’s ghost blasts a kind of raspberry on his trumpet—a sound known as the Bronx cheer!
In 1896, New York City opened the Harlem River Canal, closing off the river’s turn around Marble Hill. Soon the remaining creek was filled in, connecting that part of Manhattan forever with the Bronx. The spitting devil—the spilling devil, speight den duyvil, spike and devil, spiten debill, the spouting spuyten duyvil of a devil and all the other names people called it over the centuries—disappeared. If ever a stalwart resident of Marble Hill hears someone say their neighborhood is in the Bronx, they scream: “To the devil with you! Marble Hill is part of Manhattan!”
VAN DAM, THE GHOSTLY ROWER
Keeping away the devil once meant keeping the Sabbath day. The Dutch Reformed and other colonial churches declared Sabbath at the stroke of midnight. Woe to any found dancing, drinking or cavorting thereafter!
Once during the days of the Dutch, a good man named Rambout van Dam hoped to get in a touch of revelry on a Saturday night. He promised the dominee that he’d keep the Sabbath and return to Kakait (New Hempstead, Rockland County) before the Reformed Church bell tolled.
Rambout rowed with the tide down to Spuyten Duyvil. There he drank and danced a jig with every lass he could. When the hour of eleven tolled, he begged the girls to let him leave—he’d made a promise to keep the Sabbath. They laughed, teasing that he had promised to meet yet another woman back across the Tappan Zee. Rambout left late, jumping into his boat and the changing tide holding up his oars. Pulling hard against the Hudson’s tide, Rambout soon disappeared into the river’s rising mists.
The fog closed about him, misty fingers reaching, tugging, cupping and keeping Rambout van Dam away from the west shore landing at Tappan Slote. The church bell tolled midnight, and Rambout had not been able to keep his promise. The river still keeps him forever rowing through the gloomy hours of Sunday morning.
World’s End, 1992 woodcut print. By Vic Schwarz. Courtesy of the Vic Schwarz family through the Putnam County Museum & Foundry School Museum, Cold Spring, New York.
Now Rambout has become a skeletal ghost in ragged clothes, trapped on the Tappan Zee. His eyeballs glow green with envy while all around people break the Sabbath. Crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, while returning Sunday morning from Saturday parties, they rarely see the shroud of mist surrounding Rambout van Dam, the ghostly rower.
FLYING DUTCHMEN ON THE HUDSON
A legend from the ocean tells of a captain who cursed both God and devil in order to round Cape Horn. His ship made that stormy passage but for a fearful price. The captain and crew were doomed to sail forever, unless they could find a lass to fall in love with one of them. He would then gain freedom for the curse. Alas, the ship was granted landfall for just one night every seven years. Then, without love, they’d be condemned to sail another seven years.
The ship slipped across oceans, seas and wide rivers, never needing wind to fill its sails. An unearthly force powers the ship, known as the Flying Dutchmen. Some state they’ve seen it defying storms on the Tappan Zee.
The Redcoats once fired cannon upon it during the rebellion against King George. The shot went through the rigging and mast. Unscathed, the haunted vessel vanished. Once a man vowed he got off the Dutchmen at Tarrytown and stayed off when a tavern wench fell in love with him. He said he was the only sailor able to break the Flying Dutchmen’s spell in the seven landings he made. The ship traverses the Tappan Zee, while the crew screams for love in silenced voices.
Finally, who began bewitching Sleepy Hollow even as you approach on the Hudson River’s Tappan Zee? Again, it’s the spirited ghosts of those who failed to show respect for the river’s vicissitudes. Entering the cove a touch north of Tarrytown, it’s still best to evoke the blessed protection of old Saint Nicholas. And don’t forget to tip your hat to the imps!
Chapter 4
MOTHER HULDA, THE HIGH GERMAN WITCH DOCTOR?
Some say that the place was bewitched by a high German doctor, during the early days of the settlement (TLSH, 4).
Few legends can hold a candle to the iconic Headless Horseman. One figure, however, shines with a most unusual light. A kind yet strange soul, young Washington Irving learned of her while visiting the Old Dutch Church Cemetery. Her cottage once stood not far from the bridge where Ichabod Crane tried to dodge the galloping Hessian’s hurled head. Irving omitted direct mention of her in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. People nevertheless sense the presence of Mother Hulda, the witch.
Hulda lived as a solitary woman in the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow in the 1770s. A practicing herbalist, she bartered homemade medicine for some of her food and sundries. The Dutch farm folk shunned her as a stranger and a witch. Hulda redeemed herself during the American Revolution.
When esteemed historian Edgar Mayhew Bacon researched his 1898 book, Chronicles of Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow, little had been written on Hulda. He relied, like Irving, on the great oral tradition, gathering lore from locals with memories stretching back to the 1830s. His anthology includes accounts with European origins given a local twist like the Legend of the Star Maiden. The name Hulda has roots in pagan Germany and Holland as a nature goddess. People in the German state of Hessen still refer to Hulda in an old expression. When it snows, they say, “Hulda’s shaking her blanket,” or they “slept under Hulda’s blanket.” Sometimes called Holda and Holle in pre-Christian times, she possessed knowledge of the weather, flax spinning and witchcraft. She was known at times as the “dark grandmother” and, coincidentally, as the White Lady. A Grimm Brothers fairy tale shows Mother Hulda with two daughters. One gets gold, the other pitch. Our Sleepy Hollow Hulda gets, in a way, a bit of both.
When a strange lone crone settled in Sleepy Hollow around 1770, she stirred up the Old World superstitions. A local historian, Mrs. Jack A. Dorland, the former national director of the Washington Irving Graveplot Restoration, noted in a 1975 article that whe
n this newcomer arrived, the hamlet of Tarrytown grew ominously from twelve to thirteen families. Dorland described the times then as marked with xenophobia. The “dominee,” or minister, named Ritzema admonished his congregation in the Old Dutch Church against having “foreign discourse,” or conversation with the newcomer.
Dutch Americans before independence struggled to hold on to their language and culture with the wave of new settlers from New England and Germany sweeping into the lower Hudson Valley. Dutch rule along the Hudson may have ended in 1664 (with a brief return in 1673), but, as Washington Irving discovered, their ways lingered.
Based on Dorland, Bacon and other sources, the following is the story of Mother Hulda, the Witch of Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown.
WITCH-DOCTOR-HEROINE
When the strange woman first appeared in Tarrytown’s dry goods store, no one even tried to speak with her. Cloaked in a flowing shawl with deep-set eyes, the thin woman who looked Bohemian was shunned. She wasn’t English, Dutch, German or even Indian. The Reverend Ritzema warned from the pulpit of the Old Dutch Church, “Do not have foreign intercourse.” Strangers spelled trouble to this tightknit community.
Farmer Requa explained that he found her hut near Spook Rock. It was a place generally avoided. Legend had it that some Native curse made the stones moan. Searching for a lost cow, the thick scent of drying herbs drew him to Hulda’s shack.
Then a local Weckquasgeek man, known for speaking several languages, entered the Tarrytown shop. Requa asked if he could speak to this stranger. The Native man asked the woman something. She replied in an unusual Native dialect. He told the Dutchman she had come to live nearby and wished to barter her baskets, furs and medicines. Her name sounded like something from the Old World fairy tales. They called her Mother Hulda.
The Weckquasgeek man thought she had lived with a nearby tribe, perhaps the Siwanoy or Sint Sinct. She may have been a captive or a widow. Most of those tribes had died out or left the area.
He explained, “She’s come to live with you Dutch people now.” The Dutch folk declared her a witch.
Hulda’s baskets were neatly woven and very sturdy. She always seemed to have a rabbit to trade with her neighbors. Farm folk always traded for fur. Nevertheless, the Dutch heeded the Reverend Ritzema’s decree and remained circumspect. She may be a witch!
When people fell ill, however, with the croup, a wound or stomach pains, they’d discover a bundle of herbs on their stoops. They knew they came from the woman who practiced the art of healing with plants. Privately, they accepted Hulda’s offerings, returning her favor with metal goods like needles, betty lamps or cooking pots. Publicly, they scoffed, claiming, “I take no yarbs from that Mother Hulda!”
The American Revolution tore Westchester County in half. The Patriots took the upper part above the Croton River. The Tories held the lower part below White Plains. Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow remained in the “Neutral Grounds”—a no-man’s land. There some took sides, marching off to fight. Everyone feared both armies. Raiders for the British, called “Cowboys,” plundered many a farm. “Skinners,” their American counterparts, did the same. Farmers hid their cattle on a nearby ragged rise, sometimes milking the cows there and even churning butter. Thus it earned the name Buttermilk Hill. Hulda often foraged there as well, much to the chagrin of the war’s thieves.
The war made folk in the area all the more appreciative of Hulda’s bundles. Raid victims received, along with homemade medicine, bundles of dried rabbit meat, edible roots and even an occasional maple syrup sweet, all compliments of Mother Hulda. Now no one pretended to reject Hulda’s gifts. Her medicinal plants proved a special godsend with the pox of war upon them. Still few people directly acknowledged Hulda even in those trying times. They feared the Reverend Ritzema’s warnings. The herb woman had to face the horrors of war with no one to comfort her.
The fight came to Tarrytown on October 4, 1776. Redcoats landed ashore from an expeditionary fleet in the Tappan Zee. Apparently they sought rebel supply houses, forage and maybe some “Cow-Boy cattle.” Daniel Martling roused the local Minutemen to ready some small cannons. Irving, in The Legend, describes him as “Doffue Martling,” boasting about how he fired off at the British warships until his gun burst. Tarrytown actually gave in to the British force without firing a shot. The local militia not only declined Hulda’s services as a sharpshooter but also made a hasty retreat at the sight of the Redcoats.
The American War of Independence put Tarrytown in the dangerous no-man’s land. This meant raids and skirmishes plagued the region. The historic record shows another British raid the following year. Official accounts from both sides recorded no military deaths, but one did occur.
Returning from a medicine delivery near Battle Hill in White Plains, Hulda happened upon the raid. British troops again landed from The Phoenix and The Rose, their warships in the Tappan Zee. Tarrytown militiamen nervously mustered and were forming a line to make a stand. Terrified by the well-armed Regulars, the local rebels dared not fire. Hulda dashed to her hut, gathered her musket and powder horn and took a position on the front line.
The Old Dutch Church sexton, there among the militia ranks, reported it was Hulda who broke the standoff. When the British spied the Dutch sharpshooter, they sent dragoons out to stop her. Hulda lived up to her ancient name as a wood goddess. She not only eluded the pursuing Redcoats, the bewitching Patriot got them lost, drawing them away from Tarrytown.
When the shooting stopped and the British returned to their vessels, out came the Dutch Minutemen of Tarrytown, minus their top shot. Striding a short distance east of the Old Dutch Church, they found the lank, lifeless body of Mother Hulda. No silver bullet required for killing this “witch.” A mere ball of lead pierced her humble body. The one they thought of as being dark as pitch proved to have for them a brave heart of gold.
No one knew what to do. Hulda had acted heroically, but they considered her a pagan witch. They feared touching the body; some thought it was safer to leave her to the elements. “She must be buried!” Requa and others insisted.
A few people searched her hut and discovered a Bible and a will calling for gold to be given to war widow families. “She acted like a good Christian!” a good wife declared. “She drove off those Redcoats for us!” They wrapped her body in her shawl and carried it to the Old Dutch Church Graveyard.
“She cannot be placed in sacred church ground,” Dominee Ritzema explained. “She is not Christian!”
They decided to show their heroic witch respect. Ritzema allowed the body buried away from the marked Christian graves. The Witch of Sleepy Hollow was laid to rest by the north wall of their Old Dutch Church. Ritzema left the grave unmarked. Hulda, however, made her mark on Sleepy Hollow during those trying times. She’s the “high German doctor” who left a spell on Sleepy Hollow.
WHITE CAPTIVES
Country people of the eighteenth century in Europe and America commonly called widows living alone and over the age of fifty witches. Hulda, though an exceptional woman, was no exception to this rule. Anyone, especially a single woman, coming into a small community would suffer exclusion. A white woman speaking an Indian language indicated “native captivity.” This resulted from the clashes of colonial cultures. The times brought disease, skirmishes and war. Occasionally after raiding settlements, the Native people took in the orphaned children of the Europeans and Africans. Some were ransomed. Others, like Tarrytown’s Hulda and the daughter of the Westchester pioneer Anne Hutchinson, integrated into the Native community.
Anne Hutchinson was killed by a Weckquasgeek war party in 1643 during the Willem Kieft wars. Her daughter, Hannah, abducted by the tribe, became part of their community. Several years later, when the girl was in her teens, Peter Stuyvesant managed to ransom her. She soon chose, however, to return to live among Native peoples, marrying an Esopus man. Hulda, a Native-speaking white woman, apparently shared Hannah’s fate. Taken, or taken in, she probably had a Native husband who died, leading the Na
tive folk to return her to a European community.
Bacon describes Hulda as a Bohemian. Curiously, the Philipse family originally descended from the ancient Viscounts Felyps of Bohemia. This choice of ethnic background evokes the old stereotype given to the Romany or Gypsy peoples from Bohemia, a province in the Czech Republic, on the German border. Bohemian gypsies were considered eccentric and untrustworthy by their Slavic and Germanic neighbors. Hulda certainly fell victim to those fears.
NEW YORK’S LAST WITCH TRIAL
Labeling newcomers witches continued to be a local Dutch practice along the Hudson right into the early nineteenth century. The last witch trial in New York took place around 1815 in an equally xenophobic Dutch community near Nyack. Naut Kanniff, widow to a Scottish Presbyterian minister, arrived to the same shun and chagrin that welcomed Mother Hulda to Sleepy Hollow. Dressed not in Dutch drab but in colorful calico with flowing hair, she too had nature’s touch for the healing herbs. The local Dutch people targeted her as a witch. When butter didn’t churn and cows broke loose, a mob demanded that Naut Kanniff be tried for this witchcraft.
A judicious judge ruled “good will outweigh evil. Place her on a scale against a brass bound Bible from old Holland.” The crowd complied. The woman went down, where a witch would have flown up. Disappointed, the folks of Nyack had no witch to drown.
Widows vilified as witches plagued Sleepy Hollow and, indeed, the Hudson Valley. Irving reminds us, in another Sketch Book story called “Wolfert’s Roost,” that witches and spirits never really leave Sleepy Hollow: “In a remote part of the Hollow, where the Pocantico forced its way down rugged rocks, stood Carl’s Mill, the haunted house of the neighborhood…a goblin-pile…A horseshoe nailed to the door to keep off witches, seemed to have lost its power.”
Legends and Lore of Sleepy Hollow and the Hudson Valley Page 6