Unicorns in the Thickets: Van der Donck’s Dubious Account
Adriaen van der Donck’s 1653 book on New Netherland stands as one of the most important sources we have for understanding the Dutch colonial period in what would become Westchester County. A lawyer by training and the first patroon of what is now Yonkers, Van der Donck was no idle dreamer. His descriptions of the region’s geography, its native inhabitants, and its wildlife are generally accurate, well-observed, and still consulted by historians today.
Which makes it all the more curious that buried in his otherwise reliable account is a passage about unicorns.
The Unicorn Account
“I have been frequently told by the Mohawk Indians,” Van der Donck wrote in Description of the New Netherlands, “that far in the interior parts of the country there were animals, which were seldom seen, of the size and form of horses, with cloven hoofs, having one horn in the forehead from a foot and a half to two feet in length, and that because of their fleetness and strength they were seldom caught or ensnared.”
He continues with a careful hedge: “I have never seen any certain token or sign of such animals, but that such creatures exist in the country is supported by the concurrent declarations of the Indian hunters.” There were even Christians, he noted, who claimed to have seen the skins of these creatures—though conveniently, always without the horns.
Van der Donck’s Skepticism
So what are we to make of this? Van der Donck was writing at a time when the interior of North America remained largely unmapped by Europeans, when the natural world could still spring surprises. The unicorn, after all, appeared in medieval bestiaries not as fantasy but as natural history, filed alongside elephants and rhinoceros—animals that would have seemed equally improbable to those who had never encountered them.
It’s worth noting that Van der Donck himself clearly had doubts. Unlike his confident first-hand descriptions of beavers (which he studied personally) or deer (which he noted were “incredibly numerous”), his unicorn passage is wrapped in qualifiers and second-hand attributions. He “never seen any certain token,” only reports what he’s “been told.” The distinction is telling.
Where Did the Unicorns Go?
The most likely explanation? Van der Donck was recording garbled accounts of animals from far beyond the Mohawk territories—perhaps pronghorn antelope or other plains creatures filtered through multiple retellings. Or perhaps the Mohawks were simply entertaining themselves at the expense of an earnest Dutch lawyer, watching to see what tall tale he’d dutifully write down.
There’s also the simpler possibility that Van der Donck, for all his careful observation, was still a man of his time. In 1653, unicorns hadn’t yet been relegated entirely to the realm of myth. If respected authorities back in Europe vouched for their existence, why wouldn’t they inhabit the mysterious forests of the New World?
Whatever the case, no unicorn was ever captured in Westchester County. No bones surfaced. No horn ever hung in a Tarrytown tavern. The creature remained, as Van der Donck’s informants promised, too fleet and too elusive to ever be caught—because, in all likelihood, it was never here to begin with.
And yet the account persists, preserved in one of our most valuable historical sources. Not as evidence of mythical beasts in the Hudson Valley, but as a reminder that even our most reliable observers can be led astray—and that sometimes, the most interesting thing about a legend isn’t whether it’s true, but that anyone believed it at all.
Have you stumbled upon other improbable creatures, questionable colonial claims, or legends that seem just a bit too convenient? We’re all ears (and horns). Write us at ghost.editor@sleepyhollowcountry.com.
Jim Logan
By day, Jim Logan is superintendent of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, a position that requires him to keep excellent company with the permanently quiet residents of one of America's most storied burial grounds. A fifth-generation Tarrytowner, Jim might reasonably expect this pedigree to lend him a certain air of historical gravitas—and in most towns, it would. But when your job regularly puts you in contact with families whose ancestors were already well-established here when the Dutch were still running things, five generations starts to feel like you just moved in. By night—and weekends, and probably lunch breaks—he's a historian with an unhealthy appetite for crumbling newspaper archives and forgotten local lore. After more than two decades of research, Jim has assembled a formidable collection of Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown historical resources, which he mines for the stories that appear on Sleepy Hollow Country. If there's a ghost with a tale to tell, a legend with a plot hole, or a 19th-century scandal gathering dust in the archives, he'll find it.
