Bold Dragoon, by Washington Irving
OR THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER.
Tales of a
My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye see,
that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been dragoons and
died upon the field of honor except myself, and I hope my posterity may
be able to say the same; however, I don't mean to be vainglorious.
Well, my grandfather, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in
the Low Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army, which,
according to my uncle Toby, "swore so terribly in Flanders." He could
swear a good stick himself; and, moreover, was the very man that
introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions, of radical heat and
radical moisture; or, in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps
of ditch water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing to the
purport of my story. I only tell it to show you that my grandfather was
a man not easily to be humbugged. He had seen service; or, according to
his own phrase, "he had seen the devil"—and that's saying everything.
Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to England, for which he
intended to embark at Ostend;—bad luck to the place for one where I
was kept by storms and head winds for three long days, and the divil of
a jolly companion or pretty face to comfort me. Well, as I was saying,
my grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend—no
matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he
rode jollily into Bruges. Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen, a
queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, once they say a great place for
trade and money-making, in old times, when the Mynheers were in their
glory; but almost as large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the
Well, gentlemen, it was the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was
crowded; and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets
swarmed with Dutch merchants; and there was hardly any getting along
for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and
women in half a score of petticoats.
My grandfather rode jollily along in his easy, slashing way, for he was
a saucy, sunshiny fellow—staring about him at the motley crowd, and
the old houses with gable ends to the street and storks' nests on the
chimneys; winking at the ya vrouws who showed their faces at the
windows, and joking the women right and left in the street; all of whom
laughed and took it in amazing good part; for though he did not know a
word of their language, yet he always had a knack of making himself
understood among the women.
Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, all the town was
crowded; every inn and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in vain
from one to the other for admittance. At length he rode up to an old
rackety inn that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats
would have run away from, if they could have found room in any other
house to put their heads. It was just such a queer building as you see
in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds;
and as many garrets, one over the other, as the seven heavens of
Mahomet. Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's nest on
the chimney, which always brings good luck to a house in the Low
Countries; and at the very time of my grandfather's arrival, there were
two of these long-legged birds of grace, standing like ghosts on the
chimney top. Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very
day; for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, as it stands
there yet; only it is turned into a brewery—a brewery of strong
Flemish beer; at least it was so when I came that way after the battle
My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he approached. It might Not
altogether have struck his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over
HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK.
My grandfather had learnt enough of the language to know that the sign
promised good liquor. "This is the house for me," said he, stopping
short before the door.
The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an event in an old inn,
frequented only by the peaceful sons of traffic. A rich burgher of
Antwerp, a stately ample man, in a broad Flemish hat, and who was the
great man and great patron of the establishment, sat smoking a clean
long pipe on one side of the door; a fat little distiller of Geneva
from Schiedam, sat smoking on the other, and the bottle-nosed host
stood in the door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, beside him;
and the hostess' daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold
pendants in her ears, was at a side window.
"Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky glance at the
"Der duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of Schiedam.
The landlord saw with the quick glance of a publican that the new guest
was not at all, at all, to the taste of the old ones; and to tell the
truth, he did not himself like my grandfather's saucy eye.
He shook his head—"Not a garret in the house but was full."
"Not a garret!" echoed the landlady.
"Not a garret!" echoed the daughter.
The burgher of Antwerp and the little distiller of Schiedam continued
to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyed the enemy askance from under their
broad hats, but said nothing.
My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw the reins on
his horse's neck, cocked his hat on one side, stuck one arm akimbo,
slapped his broad thigh with the other hand—
"Faith and troth!" said he, "but I'll sleep in this house this very
My grandfather had on a tight pair of buckskins—the slap went to the
He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making his way
past the staring Mynheers into the public room. May be you've been in
the barroom of an old Flemish inn—faith, but a handsome chamber it was
as you'd wish to see; with a brick floor, a great fire-place, with the
whole Bible history in glazed tiles; and then the mantel-piece,
pitching itself head foremost out of the wall, with a whole regiment of
cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs paraded on it; not to mention half a
dozen great Delft platters hung about the room by way of pictures; and
the little bar in one corner, and the bouncing bar-maid inside of it
with a red calico cap and yellow ear-drops.
My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast an eye
round the room: "Faith, this is the very house I've been looking
after," said he.
There was some farther show of resistance on the part of the garrison,
but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irishman to boot, and not
easily repulsed, especially after he had got into the fortress. So he
blarney'd the landlord, kissed the landlord's wife, tickled the
landlord's daughter, chucked the bar-maid under the chin; and it was
agreed on all hands that it would be a thousand pities, and a burning
shame into the bargain, to turn such a bold dragoon into the streets.
So they laid their heads together, that is to say, my grandfather and
the landlady, and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an
old chamber that had for some time been shut up.
"Some say it's haunted!" whispered the landlord's daughter, "but you're
a bold dragoon, and I dare say you don't fear ghosts."
"The divil a bit!" said my grandfather, pinching her plump cheek; "but
if I should be troubled by ghosts, I've been to the Red Sea in my time,
and have a pleasant way of laying them, my darling!"
And then he whispered something to the girl which made her laugh, and
give him a good-humored box on the ear. In short, there was nobody knew
better how to make his way among the petticoats than my grandfather.
In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete possession of
the house: swaggering all over it;—into the stable to look after his
horse; into the kitchen to look after his supper. He had something to
say or do with every one; smoked with the Dutchmen; drank with the
Germans; slapped the men on the shoulders, tickled the women under the
ribs:-never since the days of Ally Croaker had such a rattling blade
been seen. The landlord stared at him with astonishment; the landlord's
daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came near; and as he
turned his back and swaggered along, his tight jacket setting off his
broad shoulders and plump buckskins, and his long sword trailing by his
side, the maids whispered to one another—"What a proper man!"
At supper my grandfather took command of the table d'hôte as though he
had been at home; helped everybody, not forgetting himself; talked with
every one, whether he understood their language or not; and made his
way into the intimacy of the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had never
been known to be sociable with any one during his life. In fact, he
revolutionized the whole establishment, and gave it such a rouse, that
the very house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table excepting
the little fat distiller of Schiedam, who had sat soaking for a long
time before he broke forth; but when he did, he was a very devil
incarnate. He took a violent affection for my grandfather; so they sat
drinking, and smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish
songs, without understanding a word each other said, until the little
Hollander was fairly swampt with his own gin and water, and carried off
to bed, whooping and hiccuping, and trolling the burthen of a Low Dutch
Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quarters, up a huge
Staircase composed of loads of hewn timber; and through long rigmarole
passages, hung with blackened paintings of fruit, and fish, and game,
and country frollics, and huge kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such
as you see about old-fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he arrived
at his room.
An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with all kinds of
trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for decayed and superannuated
furniture; where everything diseased and disabled was sent to nurse, or
to be forgotten. Or rather, it might have been taken for a general
congress of old legitimate moveables, where every kind and country had
a representative. No two chairs were alike: such high backs and low
backs, and leather bottoms and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and
no bottoms; and cracked marble tables with curiously carved legs,
holding balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at
My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as he entered, and
having undressed himself, placed his light in the fire-place, asking
pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making love to the shovel in
the chimney corner, and whispering soft nonsense in its ear.
The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep; for your
Mynheers are huge sleepers. The house maids, one by one, crept up
yawning to their attics, and not a female head in the inn was laid on a
pillow that night without dreaming of the Bold Dragoon.
My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over him one of
those great bags of down, under which they smother a man in the Low
Countries; and there he lay, melting between, two feather beds, like an
anchovy sandwich between two slices of toast and butter. He was a
warm-complexioned man, and this smothering played the very deuce with
him. So, sure enough, in a little while it seemed as if a legion of
imps were twitching at him and all the blood in his veins was in fever
He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, excepting the
snoring of the Mynheers from the different chambers; who answered one
another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like so many bull-frogs in
a swamp. The quieter the house became, the more unquiet became my
grandfather. He waxed warmer and warmer, until at length the bed became
too hot to hold him.
"May be the maid had warmed it too much?" said the curious gentleman,
"I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. "But be that as it
may, it grew too hot for my grandfather."
"Faith there's no standing this any longer," says he; so he jumped out
of bed and went strolling about the house.
"What for?" said the inquisitive gentleman.
"Why, to cool himself to be sure," replied the other, "or perhaps to
find a more comfortable bed—or perhaps—but no matter what he went
for—he never mentioned; and there's no use in taking up our time in
Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from his room, and
was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he reached the door he
heard a strange noise within. He paused and listened. It seemed as if
some one was trying to hum a tune in defiance of the asthma. He
recollected the report of the room's being haunted; but he was no
believer in ghosts. So he pushed the door gently ajar, and peeped in.
Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within enough to have
astonished St. Anthony.
By the light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced fellow in a long
Flannel gown and a tall white night-cap with a tassel to it, who sat by
the fire, with a bellows under his arm by way of bagpipe, from which he
forced the asthmatical music that had bothered my grandfather. As he
played, too, he kept twitching about with a thousand queer contortions;
nodding his head and bobbing about his tasselled night-cap.
My grandfather thought this very odd, and mighty presumptuous, and was
about to demand what business he had to play his wind instruments in
another gentleman's quarters, when a new cause of astonishment met his
eye. From the opposite side of the room a long-backed, bandy-legged
chair, covered with leather, and studded all over in a coxcomical
fashion with little brass nails, got suddenly into motion; thrust out
first a claw foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg,
slided gracefully up to an easy chair, of tarnished brocade, with a
hole in its bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about
The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed his head and
His nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing mania seemed to
seize upon all the other pieces of furniture. The antique, long-bodied
chairs paired off in couples and led down a country dance; a
three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, though horribly puzzled by its
supernumerary leg; while the amorous tongs seized the shovel round the
waist, and whirled it about the room in a German waltz. In short, all
the moveables got in motion, capering about; pirouetting, hands across,
right and left, like so many devils, all except a great clothes-press,
which kept curtseying and curtseying, like a dowager, in one corner, in
exquisite time to the music;—being either too corpulent to dance, or
perhaps at a loss for a partner.
My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason; so, being, like a
true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all times ready for a frolic,
he bounced into the room, calling to the musician to strike up "Paddy
O'Rafferty," capered up to the clothes-press and seized upon two
handles to lead her out:—When, whizz!—the whole revel was at an end.
The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in an instant as quietly
into their places as if nothing had happened; and the musician vanished
up the chimney, leaving the bellows behind him in his hurry. My
grandfather found himself seated in the middle of the floor, with the
clothes-press sprawling before him, and the two handles jerked off and
in his hands.
"Then after all, this was a mere dream!" said the inquisitive
"The divil a bit of a dream!" replied the Irishman: "there never was a
truer fact in this world. Faith, I should have liked to see any man
tell my grandfather it was a dream."
Well, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a mighty heavy body, and my
grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, you may easily suppose two
such heavy bodies coming to the ground would make a bit of a noise.
Faith, the old mansion shook as though it had mistaken it for an
earthquake. The whole garrison was alarmed. The landlord, who slept
just below, hurried up with a candle to inquire the cause, but with all
his haste his daughter had hurried to the scene of uproar before him.
The landlord was followed by the landlady, who was followed by the
bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by the simpering chambermaids all
holding together, as well as they could, such garments as they had
first lain hands on; but all in a terrible hurry to see what the devil
was to pay in the chamber of the bold dragoon.
My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had witnessed, and the
prostrate clothes-press, and the broken handles, bore testimony to the
fact. There was no contesting such evidence; particularly with a lad of
my grandfather's complexion, who seemed able to make good every word
either with sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched his head and
looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The landlady
scratched—no, she did not scratch her head,—but she knit her brow,
and did not seem half pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's
daughter corroborated it by recollecting that the last person who had
dwelt in that chamber was a famous juggler who had died of St. Vitus's
dance, and no doubt had infected all the furniture.
This set all things to rights, particularly when the chambermaids
declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on in that
room;—and as they declared this "upon their honors," there could not
remain a doubt upon the subject.
"And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room?" said the
"That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the rest of the night was
a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he had seen much service,
he was but indifferently acquainted with geography, and apt to make
blunders in his travels about inns at night, that it would have puzzled
him sadly to account for in the morning."
"Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the knowing old gentleman.
"Never that I heard of."