The History of China - Strange Tales VII.1: The Cremation of Sam McGee

Episode Date: October 4, 2022

 The Cremation of Sam McGee By: Robert W. Service (1907) 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... Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. The Civil War and Reconstruction was a pivotal era in American history. When a war was fought to save the Union and to free the slaves. And when the work to rebuild the nation after that war was over turned into a struggle to guarantee liberty and justice for all Americans. I'm Tracy. And I'm Rich. And we want to invite you to join us as we take an in-depth look at this pivotal era in American history. Look for The Civil War and

Reconstruction wherever you find your podcasts. 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 LaBarge

I cremated Sam McGee Now, Sam McGee was from Tennessee Where the cotton blooms and blows While he left his home down south to roam around 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 park was full that stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes would close, then our 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'er our head were dancing heel and toe, he turned to me, and, Cap, does he, I'll cash in this trip, I guess. And if I do, I'm asking you won't refuse my last request.

Well, he seems so low. And I couldn't say no. Then he says with sort of a moan, It's this cursed cold and it's got right a hold till I'm chilled clean through the bone. Yet, it ain'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 in 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 the 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 broad and brains, but you promise true. Now 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. And in the long, long night by the lone firelight, while the huskies round in a ring howled out their woes to the homeless snows. Oh God, how I loathed that 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 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 crematorium. 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 to such a blaze you seldom see. Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal. 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 here 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 this 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 Plum Tree 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 LaBarge I cremated Sam McKee.

Have you ever gazed in wonder at the Great Pyramid? Have you marvelled at the golden face of Tutankhamun? Or admired the delicate features of Queen Nefertiti? If you have, you'll probably like the History of Egypt podcast. Every week, we explore tales of this ancient culture. The History of Egypt is available wherever you get your podcasting fix. Come, let me introduce you to the world of ancient Egypt.