The Interment of Sam Chubb (with apologies to Robert Service)
Strange are the deeds of the folk whose needs
Lead to the Barrow Downs
In their lust for the gold of the men of old,
Those kings who lost their crowns.
Those barren trails could tell strange tales
But none could freeze the marrow
So much as the sight, on that fateful night,
When I buried Sam Chubb in a barrow.
That hobbit lad must’ve been quite mad to join our hunt for treasure
For he had a wife, and his peaceful life in the Shire was one of leisure;
He often rued the lack of food and complained of the rain and the cold
But in truth I must tell, as if under a spell, he was hungry for Cardolan gold.
On a bleak winter’s night, with the fog closed in tight, weary we stopped to make camp
The cold bit like a knife, there was no sound of life and our blankets were sodden and damp
As we crouched in the dark, from the fire came no spark yet came only one word of complaint:
“No longer I’ll roam, I’m longing for home,” whispered Sam, sounding feeble and faint.
When the ponies were fed, and we lay there abed, Sam turned to me, making this plea:
“Sir, I think that I’m done, for want of the sun, and from life I will soon be set free;
For the icy cold has taken hold and I feel my life slipping away;
You’ve been a good friend right up to the end and of thee one last favour, I pray:
I don’t fear to die, but I’d tell thee a lie if I said that I weren’t afraid,
To lie decked in rime, for eternal time, and in some freezing grave to be laid.
So don’t take it amiss, if I ask of thee this, take my body to some place that is warm;
I bid ye don’t rest, and let naught thwart your quest, not the wraiths, nor the cold, nor the storm.”
All through that night we were moved by his plight as he shuddered and shook ‘neath his cloak,
He ranted and raved as does one who’s depraved then in calmer, more measured tone spoke,
He remembered the Shire and the warmth of the fire and the life that he might have had if
He had shunned those who told tales of Barrow Downs gold: at last he lay lifeless and stiff!
Well a pal’s last request, is a sacred behest, such a promise made may not be broken;
Upright he was tied in his saddle to ride, we departed with not a word spoken.
By his side hung his pack, where he’d kept quite a stack of good things to remind him of home;
As in dawn’s light we went, it was my firm intent, he should lie beneath good Shire loam.
Yet as winter set in, my devotion grew thin, for that thing which rode grim by my side,
As its broad rictus smile grew more evil and vile with every step of our ride.
When I’d sleep it would seem to enter my dream and point, and with dire words implore:
“Why do you sleep? You’ve a promise to keep, to lay me where my body may thaw.”
Though the storm grew worse, I mouthed a curse and pressed on through the snow
As a distant howl told of creatures foul and a biting gale did blow,
I near went blind, and lost my mind to the cold which bamboozles and warps,
And I still maintain, I heard the refrain, when I sang to that grinning corpse.
How far left to go, I scarcely know, when we came to a barren mound
And there an old wain, broken in twain, fast stuck in the deep mud I found;
Well my strength was all gone and I could not go on and Sam’s brave little pony had died,
Then I did espy, a small barrow nearby, when I looked no wight there did reside.
So ignoring my pains, I took Sam’s remains, by his pack laid him out in that barrow,
But that chamber was cold, and I knew it may hold fell creatures who Sam’s ghost might harrow.
So I went to that cart and broke it apart and for Sam built a fine funeral pyre
And I said my goodbye, with a tear in my eye and I set there a fierce blazing fire.
I returned to my mount and I cannot recount for how long I lay there and waited
But some hours had passed when I guessed that at last the flames must by now have abated.
‘Twas with heavy heart that I thought to depart, for my promise I had not kept
So it was I returned, to check what was burned, if I had not I could not have slept.
As I ventured inside my eyes opened wide for Sam sat there saying to me:
“Close the front door, lest it goes cold once more then sit down and have some tea.
That blaze warmed me up, now come, let us sup, for you’ve kept the promise you made.”
Then he cut me some pie, I’m not telling a lie when I say, he seemed no way dismayed.
Strange are the deeds of the folk whose needs
Lead to the Barrow Downs
In their lust for the gold of the men of old,
Those kings who lost their crowns.
Those barren trails could tell strange tales
But none could freeze the marrow
So much as the sight, on that fateful night,
When I buried Sam Chubb in a barrow.
