The Cremation Of Sam Mcgee

Em C Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows. Em C D Em Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows. Em C He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell; Em C D Em Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell”. Em G One cold, cold night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow, Em G D The dogs were fed, and the stars overhead were dancin’ heel and toe, Em C He turns to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’m gona cash in this trip, I guess; Em C D Em And if I do, I’m asking you won’t refuse my last request.” Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; and he says with a sort of a moan: “It’s the cursed cold, it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone. Yet it ain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread in the icy grave that pains; I want you to swear, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.” Now a pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would’t fail; We started on at the streak of dawn; but Oh! he looked so pale. He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee; But by nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee. A promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own code. In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart I cursed that load. In the long, long nights, by the lone firelights, while the huskies, round in a ring, Cried out their woes to the homeless snows — how I hated the thing. Then I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay; She was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice she was called the “Alice May.” And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum; Then “Here,” says 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 coals I found lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher; The flames soared, the fire roared—such a blaze you seldom see; Then 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, the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow. It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my neck, and I don’t know why; And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streakin’ cross the sky. I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with my 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’m gona take a peek inside. I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . and the door I opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; He wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close the door. It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’re gona let in the cold and storm— Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, this is the first time I’ve been warm.” There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who toil 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 the night on the marge of Lake Lebarge that I cremated Sam McGee