Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to
him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it;
some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in
their cheeks; and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who,
when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down
the corners of his mouth, and shook his head--upon which there
was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter
Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a
descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of the
earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient
inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful
events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at
once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner.
He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his
ancestor, the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had always
been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that the
great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and
country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his
crew of the Half-moon; being permitted in this way to revisit the
scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river
and the great city called by his name. That his father had once
seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in the
hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer
afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of
thunder.

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to
the more important concerns of the election. Rip's daughter took