The Cremation of Sam McGee By Robert W. Service There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee. Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows. He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell." On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail. Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see; It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee. And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe, He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess; And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request." Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan: "It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone. Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains; So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains." A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail; And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven, With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given; It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains, But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains." Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load. In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring, Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing. And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow; And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low; The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in; And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin. Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May." And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum." Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire; Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see; And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee. Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so; And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear; But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near; I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside. I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, But the queerest they ever did see Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee.

The Cremation of Sam McGee By Robert W. Service Strange things happen in the Arctic sun By men searching for gold; The Arctic paths have hidden stories That would make you shiver; The Northern Lights have seen odd sights, But the oddest they ever did see Was that night at Lake Lebarge I burned Sam McGee. Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where cotton grows. Why he left the South to wander near the Pole, only God knows. He was always cold, but the gold seemed to enchant him; Though he'd often say he'd rather be in hell. On Christmas Day we were traveling over the Dawson trail. Talk about cold! It pierced through our clothes like a nail. If we closed our eyes, our lashes froze so we couldn't see; It wasn't fun, but only Sam McGee complained. That night, as we lay tightly wrapped in snow, And the dogs were fed, and stars danced above, He turned to me, and said, "I'll die on this trip, I think; And if I do, please fulfill my last wish." He seemed so sad I couldn't refuse; then he moaned: "It's the cursed cold, it's got me chilled to the bone. It's not death—it's the fear of an icy grave that hurts; So promise me, no matter what, you'll burn my body." A friend's last wish is important, so I promised; And we started at dawn; but he looked very pale. He sat on the sleigh, talking all day about Tennessee; And by nightfall, he was dead. There was no life in that deadly land, and I hurried, scared, With a body I couldn't leave, because of a promise; It was tied to the sleigh, and seemed to say: "You must use your strength and mind, But you promised, and you must burn my body." A promise is a debt, and the trail has strict rules. In the days that followed, though I was silent, I cursed that burden. In the long night, by the firelight, while the dogs howled, I hated the thing. Every day the body seemed heavier; And I kept going, though the dogs were tired and food was low; The trail was difficult, and I felt crazy, but I wouldn't give up; And I'd often sing to the body, and it seemed to grin. Until I reached Lake Lebarge, and found a derelict; It was stuck in the ice, but I quickly saw it was called "Alice May." I looked at it, and thought, and looked at my frozen friend; Then I shouted, "Here's my crematorium." I tore some planks from the cabin floor, and lit the fire; I found some coal and added more fuel; The flames soared, and the furnace roared—a rare sight; And I dug a hole in the coal, and put Sam McGee in. Then I walked away, because I didn't want to hear him burn; And the sky darkened, the dogs howled, and the wind blew. It was freezing, but I was sweating, and I don't know why; And the black smoke streaked across the sky. I don't know how long I fought fear in the snow; But the stars came out and danced before I went back; I was scared, but I said: "I'll just look inside. I guess he's done, and it's time to check"; ... then I opened the door. And there sat Sam, looking calm, in the furnace; And he smiled, and said: "Please close the door. It's nice in here, but I'm afraid you'll let in the cold— Since I left Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm." Strange things happen in the Arctic sun By men searching for gold; The Arctic paths have hidden stories That would make you shiver; The Northern Lights have seen odd sights, But the oddest they ever did see Was that night at Lake Lebarge I burned Sam McGee.