The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Wr - Washington Irving [162]
I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to fall asleep; but all in vain; when one cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that tossing about will effect the purpose. The fire gradually went out, and left the room in total darkness. Still I had the idea of that inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me through the gloom—nay, what was worse, the very darkness seemed to magnify its terrors. It was like having an unseen enemy hanging about one in the night. Instead of having one picture now to worry me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in every direction—“There it is,” thought I, “and there! and there! with its horrible and mysterious expression still gazing and gazing on me! No—if I must suffer the strange and dismal influence, it were better face a single foe than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it.”
Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation, must know that the longer it continues the more uncontrollable it grows. The very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my face—it seemed breathing upon me. “This is not to be borne,” said I, at length, springing out of bed: “I can stand this no longer—I shall only tumble and toss about here all night; make a very spectre of myself, and become the hero of the haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be the ill consequences, I’ll quit this cursed room and seek a night’s rest elsewhere—they can but laugh at me, at all events, and they’ll be sure to have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and show them a haggard and woe-begone visage in the morning.”
All this was half-muttered to myself as I hastily slipped on my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out of the room and down-stairs to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and stretching myself upon it, determined to bivouac there for the night. The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive caution, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity; from that into a drowsiness, and finally into a deep sleep; out of which I did not awake until the housemaid, with her besomkh and her matin-song, came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me stretched upon the sofa, but I presume circumstances of the kind were not uncommon after hunting-dinners in her master’s bachelor establishment, for she went on with her song and her work, and took no further heed of me.
I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber; so I found my way to the butler’s quarters, made my toilet in the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the first to appear at the breakfast-table. Our breakfast was a substantial fox-hunter’s repast, and the company generally assembled at it. When ample justice had been done to the tea, coffee, cold meats, and humming ale, for all these were furnished in abundance, according to the tastes of the different guests, the conversation began to break out with all the liveliness and freshness of morning mirth.
“But who is the hero of the haunted chamber—who has seen the ghost last night?” said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his lobster-eyes about the table.
The question set every tongue in motion; a vast deal of bantering, criticizing of countenances, of mutual accusation and retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and some