The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty
fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at
his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern politicians.
They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with great
curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly
aside, inquired "on which side he voted?" Rip stared in vacant
stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm,
and, rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, "Whether he was Federal or
Democrat?" Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question;
when a knowing, self-important old gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat,
made his way through the crowd, putting them to the right and left
with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van
Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen
eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul,
demanded in an austere tone, "what brought him to the election with
a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether he meant to
breed a riot in the village?"- "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip,
somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a native of the place,
and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!"
Here a general shout burst from the bystanders- "A tory! a tory! a
spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" It was with great
difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored
order; and, having assumed a ten-fold austerity of brow, demanded
again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he
was seeking? The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm,
but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who used
to keep about the tavern.
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