PADUTCH-LIFE-L Archives

From: "Vee L. Housman" <>
Subject: 98-Rip Van Winkle
Date: Mon, 02 Nov 1998 13:27:05 -0500

RIP VAN WINKLE

Things were quiet at the Mountain this Christmas, but nearly
everyone got a Christmas present. I hung my sock on the mantle,
and next morning when I got up something was sticking out of a
hole in the sock, and what do you think it was? You couldn't
guess. It was a book about an old man who once drank too much
booze, crawled into a cave, and went to sleep without waking for
twenty years. His name was Rip Van Winkle. In the front of the
book was written, "Complements of Polly." Now, Polly is a clever
old housewife, and I believe that she did it to get me to stay away
from liquor. The story goes like this:

Old Rip didn't like work and spent all his time hanging around
taverns and drinking liquor. His wife whose name was Gretchen
took in laundry to support the household. She was a hard-working
woman with a quick temper. Old Rip kept a hound named
Schneider, and if Rip wasn't in a tavern, he could be found hiking
through the mountains with his rifle and Schneider. In all his life he
never shot any game other than his neighbor's bull by mistake. He
was a friendly old man and used to carry the town children on his
back, but that still didn't bring any sausage into the house.

One night Gretchen was in a bad mood, and Rip came home
drunk again just before a thunderstorm began to rage outside. This
angered Gretchen so much that she said, "Now, I've put up with
this long enough. Out with you, Rip, and I don't ever want to see
you again as long as you live!"

It thundered and lightninged so much that Schneider crawled
under the stove. The rain fell by the bucketsful, and Rip turned to
plead with Gretch, "Not on a night like this. It's not even fit for a
dog to be outside."

"Get out of here," Gretchen said. "I don't want to see you
anymore."

"Goodbye, Rip, goodbye, Meney," Rip said to his small son
and daughter. Then he got his rifle, went to the stove, and called,
"Come on Schneider."

Rip and Schneider made their way up the mountain while the
wind and rain nearly blew them away. Except for the blinding
flashes of lightning, it was so dark that Rip couldn't tell where he
was going. Finally, he heard a voice from the mountain calling,
"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!"

The voice frightened Schneider so much that he began
scratching.

"Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" again the voice called
from the mountain.

"Here I am. What do you want with me?” answered Rip. But
the voice kept on calling. Finally, he could see through the
lightning. A small man with a sack on his back was crawling up the
mountain. When he saw Rip he stopped and took the sack off his
back. He then motioned for Rip to pick up the bag and carry it for
him. Rip picked up the bag and slung it over his back with his rifle
in the other hand and started up the mountain--the little man in
front and Schneider in the rear with his tail pinched between his
legs.

Higher and higher up the mountain they climbed till it started
to thunder again. Presently they found themselves standing on a
long ledge, surrounded by about a dozen little men who were
rolling large balls along the side of the mountain. When they saw
Rip they all seemed to recognize him. Rip said, "Good evening.
This is a bad night."

They all stared at him and nodded, but not one said a word.
They motioned for Rip to put down his bag, then one of the small
men untethered the bag and poured liquor from it into tin cups.
After they all had themselves a drink, they passed a cupful to Rip,
but Rip refused, saying that he had sworn off booze. Now, Rip was
very thirsty and needed something to tune up his throat, but he
didn't trust the little fellows. They insisted that he accept the
drink.
Rip began to speak, asking them who they were and where they
came from. They just gave nods, saying nothing, and still insisting
that he take a jigger from the little bag.

"No," said Rip. "I swore off. I'll drink no more."

Then one of the little people made a pretense of wanting to
pour the liquor back into the bag, and that was too much for Rip.
He said, "Hold on. Don't pour it back in. That'll spoil the liquor."
He drank the liquor, and pretty soon it was thundering in his head.
He became blind and dizzy, and crawled under a spruce tree. There
he also tied Schneider.

Rip fell asleep as a result of drinking the booze. For twenty
years no one heard either the sound of Old Rip's rifle firing or the
baying of his hound. One morning he woke up. The birds were
sitting in the trees around him singing. "Aye," he said, "Did I sleep
the whole night? Gretchen will really scold me this time." He
looked around for Schneider. He was gone. His rifle laid near him
half rusted and rotten. His clothes hung from him in slivers.
"Now," he said, "I guess the insects have been after my clothes,
stole my Schneider, and damaged my rifle." He wanted to stand up,
but his legs were so stiff that he couldn't bend them. Finally he
managed to stand up, and by using his rifle as a walking stick he
started to make his way down the mountain.

As he drew nearer to town some children gathered to follow
and tease him. Some elderly men appeared twiddling with their
beards in puzzlement at what they saw. Rip noticed their
astonishment, then for the first time he realized that they were
staring at his beard which had grown a foot long and which was
white as snow. He didn't know anyone, and the dogs which he had
always known to be friendly barked and growled at him. He went
straight to his house but when he got there he found the old
building had been torn down and a nice structure stood in its place.
More people crowded around him, and he was asked who he was
and what he wanted.

"Yaw," said Rip, "I don't know. This is all strange to me. Last
night Gretchen threw me out in the storm, and I spent the whole
night on the mountain sleeping. Does anyone here know of Rip
Van Winkle?"

"Rip Van Winkle?" asked someone. "Over there by the post he
stands. His father was also named Rip, but he was a
no-good-for-nothing who ran away to the mountain about twenty
years ago. He never returned home. It was thought that he had
shot himself or that he was killed by the Indians.

“God knows," said Rip. "I'm not myself anymore--I'm
someone else. That's me standing over by the post. Now, if that's
Rip Van Winkle than I wonder who I am?"

Then some of the older people began to recognize him as they
pushed closer. "Yaw, it really is old Rip Van Winkle, but his best
friend, Schneider, is dead. His children have grown up and married,
and his wife, Gretchen had also died.” That pleased Rip more than
anything else.

When I had read the book all through I told Polly that I
wouldn't mind sleeping for twenty years if I knew Polly would be
dead when I awoke. That made her so mad that she threw a hot
clothes iron at me. It singed my hair as it barely missed my head.

* * *

Note: This collection of Boonastiel stories was written by H. A.
Harter in the original Penna-Dutch dialect and were published in the
Keystone Gazette, Bellefonte, PA, between 1894 and 1904. They
were translated and transcribed by Bob James of Alaska and they
are being posted to this PADUTCH-LIFE mailing list with his
permission.

This thread:

• 98-Rip Van Winkle by "Vee L. Housman" <>