Chapter 1
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY
When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly
be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special mag-
nificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.
Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar, and had been the wonder
of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance
and unexpected return. The riches he had brought back from his
travels had now become a local legend, and it was popularly believed,
whatever the old folk might say, that the Hill at Bag End was full of
tunnels stuffed with treasure. And if that was not enough for fame,
there was also his prolonged vigour to marvel at. Time wore on, but it
seemed to have little effect on Mr. Baggins. At ninety he was much the
same as at fifty. At ninety-nine they began to call him well-preserved; but
unchanged would have been nearer the mark. There were some that
shook their heads and thought this was too much of a good thing; it
seemed unfair that anyone should possess (apparently) perpetual
youth as well as (reputedly) inexhaustible wealth.
‘It will have to be paid for,’ they said. ‘It isn’t natural, and trouble
will come of it!’
But so far trouble had not come; and as Mr. Baggins was generous
with his money, most people were willing to forgive him his oddities
and his good fortune. He remained on visiting terms with his relatives
(except, of course, the Sackville-Bagginses), and he had many de-
voted admirers among the hobbits of poor and unimportant families.
But he had no close friends, until some of his younger cousins began
to grow up.
The eldest of these, and Bilbo’s favourite, was young Frodo
Baggins. When Bilbo was ninety-nine he adopted Frodo as his heir,
and brought him to live at Bag End; and the hopes of the Sackville-
Bagginses were finally dashed. Bilbo and Frodo happened to have
the same birthday, September 22nd. ‘You had better come and live
here, Frodo my lad,’ said Bilbo one day; ‘and then we can celebrate
our birthday-parties comfortably together.’ At that time Frodo was
still in his tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties
between childhood and coming of age at thirty-three.
Twelve more years passed. Each year the Bagginses had given
very lively combined birthday-parties at Bag End; but now it was
22 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
understood that something quite exceptional was being planned for
that autumn. Bilbo was going to be eleventy-one, 111, a rather curious
number, and a very respectable age for a hobbit (the Old Took himself
had only reached 130); and Frodo was going to be thirty-three, 33, an
important number: the date of his ‘coming of age’.
Tongues began to wag in Hobbiton and Bywater; and rumour of
the coming event travelled all over the Shire. The history and charac-
ter of Mr. Bilbo Baggins became once again the chief topic of conver-
sation; and the older folk suddenly found their reminiscences in
welcome demand.
No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee,
commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at The Ivy Bush, a
small inn on the Bywater road; and he spoke with some authority,
for he had tended the garden at Bag End for forty years, and had
helped old Holman in the same job before that. Now that he was
himself growing old and stiff in the joints, the job was mainly carried
on by his youngest son, Sam Gamgee. Both father and son were on
very friendly terms with Bilbo and Frodo. They lived on the Hill
itself, in Number 3 Bagshot Row just below Bag End.
‘A very nice well-spoken gentlehobbit is Mr. Bilbo, as I’ve always
said,’ the Gaffer declared. With perfect truth: for Bilbo was very
polite to him, calling him ‘Master Hamfast’, and consulting him
constantly upon the growing of vegetables — in the matter of ‘roots’,
especially potatoes, the Gaffer was recognized as the leading authority
by all in the neighbourhood (including himself).
‘But what about this Frodo that lives with him?’ asked Old Noakes
of Bywater. ‘Baggins is his name, but he’s more than half a Brandy-
buck, they say. It beats me why any Baggins of Hobbiton should go
looking for a wife away there in Buckland, where folks are so queer.’
‘And no wonder they’re queer,’ put in Daddy Twofoot (the
Gaffer’s next-door neighbour), ‘if they live on the wrong side of the
Brandywine River, and right agin the Old Forest. That’s a dark bad
place, if half the tales be true.’
‘You’re right, Dad!’ said the Gaffer. ‘Not that the Brandybucks
of Buckland live in the Old Forest; but they’re a queer breed, seem-
ingly. They fool about with boats on that big river — and that isn’t
natural. Small wonder that trouble came of it, I say. But be that as
it may, Mr. Frodo is as nice a young hobbit as you could wish to
meet. Very much like Mr. Bilbo, and in more than looks. After all
his father was a Baggins. A decent respectable hobbit was Mr. Drogo
Baggins; there was never much to tell of him, till he was drownded.’
‘Drownded?’ said several voices. They had heard this and other
darker rumours before, of course; but hobbits have a passion for
family history, and they were ready to hear it again.
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 23
‘Well, so they say,’ said the Gaffer. “You see: Mr. Drogo, he
married poor Miss Primula Brandybuck. She was our Mr. Bilbo’s
first cousin on the mother’s side (her mother being the youngest of
the Old Took’s daughters); and Mr. Drogo was his second cousin.
So Mr. Frodo is his first and second cousin, once removed either
way, as the saying is, if you follow me. And Mr. Drogo was staying
at Brandy Hall with his father-in-law, old Master Gorbadoc, as he
often did after his marriage (him being partial to his vittles, and old
Gorbadoc keeping a mighty generous table); and he went out boating
on the Brandywine River; and he and his wife were drownded, and
poor Mr. Frodo only a child and all.’
‘I’ve heard they went on the water after dinner in the moonlight,’
said Old Noakes; ‘and it was Drogo’s weight as sunk the boat.’
‘And I heard she pushed him in, and he pulled her in after him,’
said Sandyman, the Hobbiton miller.
“You shouldn’t listen to all you hear, Sandyman,’ said the Gaffer,
who did not much like the miller. “There isn’t no call to go talking
of pushing and pulling. Boats are quite tricky enough for those that
sit still without looking further for the cause of trouble. Anyway:
there was this Mr. Frodo left an orphan and stranded, as you might
say, among those queer Bucklanders, being brought up anyhow in
Brandy Hall. A regular warren, by all accounts. Old Master Gorbadoc
never had fewer than a couple of hundred relations in the place. Mr.
Bilbo never did a kinder deed than when he brought the lad back to
live among decent folk.
‘But I reckon it was a nasty knock for those Sackville-Bagginses.
They thought they were going to get Bag End, that time when he
went off and was thought to be dead. And then he comes back and
orders them off; and he goes on living and living, and never looking
a day older, bless him! And suddenly he produces an heir, and has
all the papers made out proper. The Sackville-Bagginses won’t never
see the inside of Bag End now, or it is to be hoped not.’
“There’s a tidy bit of money tucked away up there, I hear tell,’
said a stranger, a visitor on business from Michel Delving in the
Westfarthing. ‘All the top of your hill is full of tunnels packed with
chests of gold and silver, and jools, by what I’ve heard.’
‘Then you’ve heard more than I can speak to,’ answered the
Gaffer. ‘I know nothing about jools. Mr. Bilbo is free with his money,
and there seems no lack of it; but I know of no tunnel-making. I saw
Mr. Bilbo when he came back, a matter of sixty years ago, when I
was a lad. I’d not long come prentice to old Holman (him being my
dad’s cousin), but he had me up at Bag End helping him to keep
folks from trampling and trapessing all over the garden while the sale
was on. And in the middle of it all Mr. Bilbo comes up the Hill with
24 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
a pony and some mighty big bags and a couple of chests. I don’t
doubt they were mostly full of treasure he had picked up in foreign
parts, where there be mountains of gold, they say; but there wasn’t
enough to fill tunnels. But my lad Sam will know more about that.
He’s in and out of Bag End. Crazy about stories of the old days, he
is, and he listens to all Mr. Bilbo’s tales. Mr. Bilbo has learned him
his letters — meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will
come of it.
‘Elves and Dragons! I says to him. Cabbages and potatoes are better
for me and you. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business of your betters,
or you'll land in trouble too big for you, I says to him. And I might say
it to others,’ he added with a look at the stranger and the miller.
But the Gaffer did not convince his audience. The legend of
Bilbo’s wealth was now too firmly fixed in the minds of the younger
generation of hobbits.
‘Ah, but he has likely enough been adding to what he brought at
first,’ argued the miller, voicing common opinion. ‘He’s often away
from home. And look at the outlandish folk that visit him: dwarves
coming at night, and that old wandering conjuror, Gandalf, and all.
You can say what you like, Gaffer, but Bag End’s a queer place, and
its folk are queerer.’
‘And you can say what you like, about what you know no more
of than you do of boating, Mr. Sandyman,’ retorted the Gaffer, dislik-
ing the miller even more than usual. ‘If that’s being queer, then we
could do with a bit more queerness in these parts. There’s some not
far away that wouldn’t offer a pint of beer to a friend, if they lived
in a hole with golden walls. But they do things proper at Bag End.
Our Sam says that everyone’s going to be invited to the party, and
there’s going to be presents, mark you, presents for all — this very
month as is.’
That very month was September, and as fine as you could ask. A
day or two later a rumour (probably started by the knowledgeable
Sam) was spread about that there were going to be fireworks — fire-
works, what is more, such as had not been seen in the Shire for nigh
on a century, not indeed since the Old Took died.
Days passed and The Day drew nearer. An odd-looking waggon
laden with odd-looking packages rolled into Hobbiton one evening
and toiled up the Hill to Bag End. The startled hobbits peered out
of lamplit doors to gape at it. It was driven by outlandish folk, singing
strange songs: dwarves with long beards and deep hoods. A few of
them remained at Bag End. At the end of the second week in Sep-
tember a cart came in through Bywater from the direction of Brandy-
wine Bridge in broad daylight. An old man was driving it all alone.
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 25
He wore a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf.
He had a long white beard and bushy eyebrows that stuck out beyond
the brim of his hat. Small hobbit-children ran after the cart all through
Hobbiton and right up the hill. It had a cargo of fireworks, as they
rightly guessed. At Bilbo’s front door the old man began to unload:
there were great bundles of fireworks of all sorts and shapes, each
labelled with a large red G & and the elf-rune, P”
That was Gandalf’s mark, of course, and the old man was Gandalf
the Wizard, whose fame in the Shire was due mainly to his skill with
fires, smokes, and lights. His real business was far more difficult and
dangerous, but the Shire-folk knew nothing about it. To them he
was just one of the ‘attractions’ at the Party. Hence the excitement
of the hobbit-children. ‘G for Grand!’ they shouted, and the old man
smiled. They knew him by sight, though he only appeared in Hobbi-
ton occasionally and never stopped long; but neither they nor any
but the oldest of their elders had seen one of his firework displays —
they now belonged to a legendary past.
When the old man, helped by Bilbo and some dwarves, had
finished unloading, Bilbo gave a few pennies away; but not a single
squib or cracker was forthcoming, to the disappointment of the
onlookers.
‘Run away now!’ said Gandalf. ‘You will get plenty when the time
comes.’ Then he disappeared inside with Bilbo, and the door was
shut. The young hobbits stared at the door in vain for a while, and
then made off, feeling that the day of the party would never come.
Inside Bag End, Bilbo and Gandalf were sitting at the open window
of a small room looking out west on to the garden. The late afternoon
was bright and peaceful. The flowers glowed red and golden: snap-
dragons and sunflowers, and nasturtians trailing all over the turf walls
and peeping in at the round windows.
‘How bright your garden looks!’ said Gandalf.
‘Yes,’ said Bilbo. ‘I am very fond indeed of it, and of all the dear
old Shire; but I think I need a holiday.’
“You mean to go on with your plan then?’
‘I do. I made up my mind months ago, and I haven’t changed it.’
‘Very well. It is no good saying any more. Stick to your plan —
your whole plan, mind — and I hope it will turn out for the best, for
you, and for all of us.’
‘I hope so. Anyway I mean to enjoy myself on Thursday, and have
my little joke.’
‘Who will laugh, I wonder?’ said Gandalf, shaking his head.
‘We shall see,’ said Bilbo.
* * *
26 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The next day more carts rolled up the Hill, and still more carts.
There might have been some grumbling about ‘dealing locally’, but
that very week orders began to pour out of Bag End for every kind
of provision, commodity, or luxury that could be obtained in Hobbi-
ton or Bywater or anywhere in the neighbourhood. People became
enthusiastic; and they began to tick off the days on the calendar; and
they watched eagerly for the postman, hoping for invitations.
Before long the invitations began pouring out, and the Hobbiton
post-office was blocked, and the Bywater post-office was snowed
under, and voluntary assistant postmen were called for. There was a
constant stream of them going up the Hill, carrying hundreds of
polite variations on Thank you, I shall certainly come.
A notice appeared on the gate at Bag End: NO ADMITTANCE
EXCEPT ON PARTY BUSINESS. Even those who had, or pretended to
have Party Business were seldom allowed inside. Bilbo was busy:
writing invitations, ticking off answers, packing up presents, and
making some private preparations of his own. From the time of
Gandalf’s arrival he remained hidden from view.
One morning the hobbits woke to find the large field, south of
Bilbo’s front door, covered with ropes and poles for tents and pav-
ilions. A special entrance was cut into the bank leading to the road,
and wide steps and a large white gate were built there. The three
hobbit-families of Bagshot Row, adjoining the field, were intensely
interested and generally envied. Old Gaffer Gamgee stopped even
pretending to work in his garden.
The tents began to go up. There was a specially large pavilion, so
big that the tree that grew in the field was right inside it, and stood
proudly near one end, at the head of the chief table. Lanterns were
hung on all its branches. More promising still (to the hobbits’ mind):
an enormous open-air kitchen was erected in the north corner of the
field. A draught of cooks, from every inn and eating-house for miles
around, arrived to supplement the dwarves and other odd folk that
were quartered at Bag End. Excitement rose to its height.
Then the weather clouded over. That was on Wednesday the eve
of the Party. Anxiety was intense. Then Thursday, September the
22nd, actually dawned. The sun got up, the clouds vanished, flags
were unfurled and the fun began.
Bilbo Baggins called it a party, but it was really a variety of enter-
tainments rolled into one. Practically everybody living near was
invited. A very few were overlooked by accident, but as they turned
up all the same, that did not matter. Many people from other parts
of the Shire were also asked; and there were even a few from outside
the borders. Bilbo met the guests (and additions) at the new white
gate in person. He gave away presents to all and sundry — the latter
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 27
were those who went out again by a back way and came in again by
the gate. Hobbits give presents to other people on their own birthdays.
Not very expensive ones, as a rule, and not so lavishly as on this
occasion; but it was not a bad system. Actually in Hobbiton and
Bywater every day in the year was somebody’s birthday, so that every
hobbit in those parts had a fair chance of at least one present at least
once a week. But they never got tired of them.
On this occasion the presents were unusually good. The hobbit-
children were so excited that for a while they almost forgot about
eating. There were toys the like of which they had never seen before,
all beautiful and some obviously magical. Many of them had indeed
been ordered a year before, and had come all the way from the
Mountain and from Dale, and were of real dwarf-make.
When every guest had been welcomed and was finally inside the
gate, there were songs, dances, music, games, and, of course, food
and drink. There were three official meals: lunch, tea, and dinner
(or supper). But lunch and tea were marked chiefly by the fact that
at those times all the guests were sitting down and eating together.
At other times there were merely lots of people eating and drinking
—continuously from elevenses until six-thirty, when the fireworks
started.
The fireworks were by Gandalf: they were not only brought by
him, but designed and made by him; and the special effects, set
pieces, and flights of rockets were let off by him. But there was also
a generous distribution of squibs, crackers, backarappers, sparklers,
torches, dwarf-candles, elf-fountains, goblin-barkers and thunder-
claps. They were all superb. The art of Gandalf improved with age.
There were rockets like a flight of scintillating birds singing with
sweet voices. There were green trees with trunks of dark smoke: their
leaves opened like a whole spring unfolding in a moment, and their
shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the astonished
hobbits, disappearing with a sweet scent just before they touched their
upturned faces. There were fountains of butterflies that flew glittering
into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that rose and turned
into eagles, or sailing ships, or a phalanx of flying swans; there was
a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest
of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air with a yell like an
embattled army, and came down again into the Water with a hiss
like a hundred hot snakes. And there was also one last surprise, in
honour of Bilbo, and it startled the hobbits exceedingly, as Gandalf
intended. The lights went out. A great smoke went up. It shaped
itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the
summit. It spouted green and scarlet flames. Out flew a red-golden
dragon — not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws,
28 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times
over the heads of the crowd. They all ducked, and many fell flat on
their faces. The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somer-
sault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion.
“That is the signal for supper!’ said Bilbo. The pain and alarm
vanished at once, and the prostrate hobbits leaped to their feet. There
was a splendid supper for everyone; for everyone, that is, except those
invited to the special family dinner-party. This was held in the great
pavilion with the tree. The invitations were limited to twelve dozen
(a number also called by the hobbits one Gross, though the word
was not considered proper to use of people); and the guests were
selected from all the families to which Bilbo and Frodo were related,
with the addition of a few special unrelated friends (such as Gandalf).
Many young hobbits were included, and present by parental per-
mission; for hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter
of sitting up late, especially when there was a chance of getting them
a free meal. Bringing up young hobbits took a lot of provender.
There were many Bagginses and Boffins, and also many Tooks and
Brandybucks; there were various Grubbs (relations of Bilbo Baggins’
grandmother), and various Chubbs (connexions of his Took grand-
father); and a selection of Burrowses, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Brock-
houses, Goodbodies, Hornblowers and Proudfoots. Some of these
were only very distantly connected with Bilbo, and some had hardly
ever been in Hobbiton before, as they lived in remote corners of the
Shire. The Sackville-Bagginses were not forgotten. Otho and his wife
Lobelia were present. They disliked Bilbo and detested Frodo, but
so magnificent was the invitation card, written in golden ink, that
they had felt it was impossible to refuse. Besides, their cousin, Bilbo,
had been specializing in food for many years and his table had a high
reputation.
All the one hundred and forty-four guests expected a pleasant
feast; though they rather dreaded the after-dinner speech of their
host (an inevitable item). He was liable to drag in bits of what he
called poetry; and sometimes, after a glass or two, would allude to
the absurd adventures of his mysterious journey. The guests were
not disappointed: they had a very pleasant feast, in fact an engrossing
entertainment: rich, abundant, varied, and prolonged. The purchase
of provisions fell almost to nothing throughout the district in the
ensuing weeks; but as Bilbo’s catering had depleted the stocks of
most of the stores, cellars and warehouses for miles around, that did
not matter much.
After the feast (more or less) came the Speech. Most of the com-
pany were, however, now in a tolerant mood, at that delightful stage
which they called ‘filling up the corners’. They were sipping their
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 29
favourite drinks, and nibbling at their favourite dainties, and their
fears were forgotten. They were prepared to listen to anything, and
to cheer at every full stop.
My dear People, began Bilbo, rising in his place. ‘Hear! Hear! Hear!’
they shouted, and kept on repeating it in chorus, seeming reluctant
to follow their own advice. Bilbo left his place and went and stood
on a chair under the illuminated tree. The light of the lanterns fell
on his beaming face; the golden buttons shone on his embroidered
silk waistcoat. They could all see him standing, waving one hand in
the air, the other was in his trouser-pocket.
My dear Bagginses and Boffins, he began again; and my dear Tooks
and Brandybucks, and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Horn-
blowers, and Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots.
‘ProudFEET!’ shouted an elderly hobbit from the back of the pavilion.
His name, of course, was Proudfoot, and well merited; his feet were
large, exceptionally furry, and both were on the table.
Proudfoots, repeated Bilbo. Also my good Sackville-Bagginses that I
welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my one hundred and eleventh
birthday: I am eleventy-one today! ‘Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy
Returns!’ they shouted, and they hammered joyously on the tables.
Bilbo was doing splendidly. This was the sort of stuff they liked:
short and obvious.
I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am. Deafening
cheers. Cries of Yes (and No). Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes
and flutes, and other musical instruments. There were, as has been
said, many young hobbits present. Hundreds of musical crackers had
been pulled. Most of them bore the mark DALE on them; which did
not convey much to most of the hobbits, but they all agreed they
were marvellous crackers. They contained instruments, small, but of
perfect make and enchanting tones. Indeed, in one corner some of
the young Tooks and Brandybucks, supposing Uncle Bilbo to have
finished (since he had plainly said all that was necessary), now got
up an impromptu orchestra, and began a merry dance-tune. Master
Everard Took and Miss Melilot Brandybuck got on a table and with
bells in their hands began to dance the Springle-ring: a pretty dance,
but rather vigorous.
But Bilbo had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster nearby,
he blew three loud hoots. The noise subsided. I shall not keep you
long, he cried. Cheers from all the assembly. I have called you all
together for a Purpose. Something in the way that he said this made
an impression. There was almost silence, and one or two of the Tooks
pricked up their ears.
Indeed, for Three Purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely
fond of you all, and that eleventy-one years is too short a time to live
30 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
among such excellent and admirable hobbits. Tremendous outburst of
approval.
I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I ltke less
than half of you half as well as you deserve. This was unexpected and
rather difficult. There was some scattered clapping, but most of them
were trying to work it out and see if it came to a compliment.
Secondly, to celebrate my birthday. Cheers again. I should say: OUR
birthday. For it is, of course, also the birthday of my heir and nephew,
Frodo. He comes of age and into his inheritance today. Some perfunctory
clapping by the elders; and some loud shouts of ‘Frodo! Frodo! Jolly
old Frodo,’ from the juniors. The Sackville-Bagginses scowled, and
wondered what was meant by ‘coming into his inheritance’.
Together we score one hundred and forty-four. Your numbers were
chosen to fit this remarkable total: One Gross, if I may use the expression.
No cheers. This was ridiculous. Many of the guests, and especially
the Sackville-Bagginses, were insulted, feeling sure they had only
been asked to fill up the required number, like goods in a package.
‘One Gross, indeed! Vulgar expression.’
It is also, if I may be allowed to refer to ancient history, the anniversary
of my arrival by barrel at Esgaroth on the Long Lake; though the fact
that it was my birthday slipped my memory on that occasion. I was only
fifty-one then, and birthdays did not seem so important. The banquet was
very splendid, however, though I had a bad cold at the time, I remember,
and could only say ‘thag you very buch’. I now repeat it more correctly:
Thank you very much for coming to my little party. Obstinate silence.
They all feared that a song or some poetry was now imminent; and
they were getting bored. Why couldn’t he stop talking and let them
drink his health? But Bilbo did not sing or recite. He paused for a
moment.
Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT.
He spoke this last word so loudly and suddenly that everyone sat up
who still could. I regret to announce that — though, as I said, eleventy-one
years 1s far too short a time to spend among you — this 1s the END. I am
going. I am leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE!
He stepped down and vanished. There was a blinding flash of
light, and the guests all blinked. When they opened their eyes Bilbo
was nowhere to be seen. One hundred and forty-four flabbergasted
hobbits sat back speechless. Old Odo Proudfoot removed his feet
from the table and stamped. Then there was a dead silence, until
suddenly, after several deep breaths, every Baggins, Boffin, Took,
Brandybuck, Grubb, Chubb, Burrows, Bolger, Bracegirdle, Brock-
house, Goodbody, Hornblower, and Proudfoot began to talk at once.
It was generally agreed that the joke was in very bad taste, and more
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 31
food and drink were needed to cure the guests of shock and annoyance.
‘He’s mad. I always said so,’ was probably the most popular comment.
Even the Tooks (with a few exceptions) thought Bilbo’s behaviour
was absurd. For the moment most of them took it for granted that
his disappearance was nothing more than a ridiculous prank.
But old Rory Brandybuck was not so sure. Neither age nor an
enormous dinner had clouded his wits, and he said to his daughter-in-
law, Esmeralda: “There’s something fishy in this, my dear! I believe
that mad Baggins is off again. Silly old fool. But why worry? He
hasn’t taken the vittles with him.’ He called loudly to Frodo to send
the wine round again.
Frodo was the only one present who had said nothing. For some
time he had sat silent beside Bilbo’s empty chair, and ignored all
remarks and questions. He had enjoyed the joke, of course, even
though he had been in the know. He had difficulty in keeping from
laughter at the indignant surprise of the guests. But at the same
time he felt deeply troubled: he realized suddenly that he loved the
old hobbit dearly. Most of the guests went on eating and drinking
and discussing Bilbo Baggins’ oddities, past and present; but the
Sackville-Bagginses had already departed in wrath. Frodo did not
want to have any more to do with the party. He gave orders for more
wine to be served; then he got up and drained his own glass silently
to the health of Bilbo, and slipped out of the pavilion.
As for Bilbo Baggins, even while he was making his speech, he
had been fingering the golden ring in his pocket: his magic ring that
he had kept secret for so many years. As he stepped down he slipped
it on his finger, and he was never seen by any hobbit in Hobbiton
again.
He walked briskly back to his hole, and stood for a moment listen-
ing with a smile to the din in the pavilion, and to the sounds of
merrymaking in other parts of the field. Then he went in. He took
off his party clothes, folded up and wrapped in tissue-paper his
embroidered silk waistcoat, and put it away. Then he put on quickly
some old untidy garments, and fastened round his waist a worn
leather belt. On it he hung a short sword in a battered black-leather
scabbard. From a locked drawer, smelling of moth-balls, he took out
an old cloak and hood. They had been locked up as if they were very
precious, but they were so patched and weatherstained that their
original colour could hardly be guessed: it might have been dark
green. They were rather too large for him. He then went into his
study, and from a large strong-box took out a bundle wrapped in
old cloths, and a leather-bound manuscript; and also a large bulky
envelope. The book and bundle he stuffed into the top of a heavy
32 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
bag that was standing there, already nearly full. Into the envelope he
slipped his golden ring, and its fine chain, and then sealed it, and
addressed it to Frodo. At first he put it on the mantelpiece, but
suddenly he removed it and stuck it in his pocket. At that moment
the door opened and Gandalf came quickly in.
‘Hullo!’ said Bilbo. ‘I wondered if you would turn up.’
‘I am glad to find you visible,’ replied the wizard, sitting down in a
chair, ‘I wanted to catch you and have a few final words. I suppose you
feel that everything has gone off splendidly and according to plan?’
“Yes, I do,’ said Bilbo. “Though that flash was surprising: it quite
startled me, let alone the others. A little addition of your own, I
suppose?’
‘It was. You have wisely kept that ring secret all these years, and
it seemed to me necessary to give your guests something else that
would seem to explain your sudden vanishment.’
‘And would spoil my joke. You are an interfering old busybody,’
laughed Bilbo, ‘but I expect you know best, as usual.’
‘I do — when I know anything. But I don’t feel too sure about this
whole affair. It has now come to the final point. You have had your
joke, and alarmed or offended most of your relations, and given the
whole Shire something to talk about for nine days, or ninety-nine
more likely. Are you going any further?’
“Yes, I am. I feel I need a holiday, a very long holiday, as I have
told you before. Probably a permanent holiday: I don’t expect I shall
return. In fact, I don’t mean to, and I have made all arrangements.
‘I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it
in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed!’ he snorted. ‘Why, I feel
all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that
has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need
a change, or something.’
Gandalf looked curiously and closely at him. ‘No, it does not
seem right,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘No, after all I believe your plan is
probably the best.’
‘Well, ’'ve made up my mind, anyway. I want to see mountains
again, Gandalf — mountains; and then find somewhere where I can
rest. In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and
a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell. I might find
somewhere where I can finish my book. I have thought of a nice
ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.’
Gandalf laughed. ‘I hope he will. But nobody will read the book,
however it ends.’
‘Oh, they may, in years to come. Frodo has read some already, as
far as it has gone. You'll keep an eye on Frodo, won’t you?’
“Yes, I will — two eyes, as often as I can spare them.’
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 33
‘He would come with me, of course, if I asked him. In fact he
offered to once, just before the party. But he does not really want
to, yet. I want to see the wild country again before I die, and the
Mountains; but he is still in love with the Shire, with woods and
fields and little rivers. He ought to be comfortable here. I am leaving
everything to him, of course, except a few oddments. I hope he will
be happy, when he gets used to being on his own. It’s time he was
his own master now.’
‘Everything?’ said Gandalf. “The ring as well? You agreed to that,
you remember.’
‘Well, er, yes, I suppose so,’ stammered Bilbo.
‘Where is it?’
‘In an envelope, if you must know,’ said Bilbo impatiently. “There
on the mantelpiece. Well, no! Here it is in my pocket!’ He hesitated.
‘Isn’t that odd now?’ he said softly to himself. ‘Yet after all, why not?
Why shouldn’t it stay there?’
Gandalf looked again very hard at Bilbo, and there was a gleam
in his eyes.‘I think, Bilbo,’ he said quietly, ‘I should leave it behind.
Don’t you want to?’
‘Well yes — and no. Now it comes to it, I don’t like parting with
it at all, I may say. And I don’t really see why I should. Why do you
want me to?’ he asked, and a curious change came over his voice. It
was sharp with suspicion and annoyance. ‘You are always badgering
me about my ring; but you have never bothered me about the other
things that I got on my journey.’
‘No, but I had to badger you,’ said Gandalf. ‘I wanted the truth.
It was important. Magic rings are — well, magical; and they are rare
and curious. I was professionally interested in your ring, you may
say; and I still am. I should like to know where it is, if you go
wandering again. Also I think you have had it quite long enough.
You won’t need it any more, Bilbo, unless I am quite mistaken.’
Bilbo flushed, and there was an angry light in his eyes. His kindly
face grew hard. ‘Why not?’ he cried. ‘And what business is it of yours,
anyway, to know what I do with my own things? It is my own. I
found it. It came to me.’
“Yes, yes,’ said Gandalf. ‘But there is no need to get angry.’
‘If I am it is your fault,’ said Bilbo. ‘It is mine, I tell you. My own.
My Precious. Yes, my Precious.’
The wizard’s face remained grave and attentive, and only a flicker
in his deep eyes showed that he was startled and indeed alarmed. ‘It
has been called that before,’ he said, ‘but not by you.’
‘But I say it now. And why not? Even if Gollum said the same
once. It’s not his now, but mine. And I shall keep it, I say.’
Gandalf stood up. He spoke sternly. ‘You will be a fool if you do,
34 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Bilbo,’ he said. ‘You make that clearer with every word you say. It
has got far too much hold on you. Let it go! And then you can go
yourself, and be free.’
‘T’ll do as I choose and go as I please,’ said Bilbo obstinately.
‘Now, now, my dear hobbit!’ said Gandalf. ‘All your long life we
have been friends, and you owe me something. Come! Do as you
promised: give it up!’
‘Well, if you want my ring yourself, say so!’ cried Bilbo. ‘But you
won’t get it. I won’t give my Precious away, I tell you.’ His hand
strayed to the hilt of his small sword.
Gandalf’s eyes flashed. ‘It will be my turn to get angry soon,’ he
said. ‘If you say that again, I shall. Then you will see Gandalf the
Grey uncloaked.’ He took a step towards the hobbit, and he seemed
to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the little room.
Bilbo backed away to the wall, breathing hard, his hand clutching
at his pocket. They stood for a while facing one another, and the air
of the room tingled. Gandalf’s eyes remained bent on the hobbit.
Slowly his hands relaxed, and he began to tremble.
‘I don’t know what has come over you, Gandalf,’ he said. ‘You
have never been like this before. What is it all about? It is mine isn’t
it? I found it, and Gollum would have killed me, if I hadn’t kept it.
I’m not a thief, whatever he said.’
‘I have never called you one,’ Gandalf answered. ‘And I am not one
either. I am not trying to rob you, but to help you. I wish you would
trust me, as you used.’ He turned away, and the shadow passed. He
seemed to dwindle again to an old grey man, bent and troubled.
Bilbo drew his hand over his eyes. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘But I felt
so queer. And yet it would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with
it any more. It has been so growing on my mind lately. Sometimes I
have felt it was like an eye looking at me. And I am always wanting
to put it on and disappear, don’t you know; or wondering if it is safe,
and pulling it out to make sure. I tried locking it up, but I found I
couldn’t rest without it in my pocket. I don’t know why. And I don’t
seem able to make up my mind.’
“Then trust mine,’ said Gandalf. ‘It is quite made up. Go away
and leave it behind. Stop possessing it. Give it to Frodo, and I will
look after him.’
Bilbo stood for a moment tense and undecided. Presently he
sighed. ‘All right,’ he said with an effort. ‘I will.’ Then he shrugged
his shoulders, and smiled rather ruefully. ‘After all that’s what this
party business was all about, really: to give away lots of birthday-
presents, and somehow make it easier to give it away at the same
time. It hasn’t made it any easier in the end, but it would be a pity
to waste all my preparations. It would quite spoil the joke.’
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 35
‘Indeed it would take away the only point I ever saw in the affair,’
said Gandalf.
‘Very well,’ said Bilbo, ‘it goes to Frodo with all the rest.’ He drew
a deep breath. ‘And now I really must be starting, or somebody else
will catch me. I have said good-bye, and I couldn’t bear to do it all
over again.’ He picked up his bag and moved to the door.
“You have still got the ring in your pocket,’ said the wizard.
‘Well, so I have!’ cried Bilbo. ‘And my will and all the other
documents too. You had better take it and deliver it for me. That
will be safest.’
‘No, don’t give the ring to me,’ said Gandalf. ‘Put it on the mantel-
piece. It will be safe enough there, till Frodo comes. I shall wait for him.’
Bilbo took out the envelope, but just as he was about to set it by
the clock, his hand jerked back, and the packet fell on the floor.
Before he could pick it up, the wizard stooped and seized it and set
it in its place. A spasm of anger passed swiftly over the hobbit’s face
again. Suddenly it gave way to a look of relief and a laugh.
‘Well, that’s that,’ he said. ‘Now I’m off!’
They went out into the hall. Bilbo chose his favourite stick from
the stand; then he whistled. Three dwarves came out of different
rooms where they had been busy.
‘Is everything ready?’ asked Bilbo. ‘Everything packed and labelled?’
‘Everything,’ they answered.
‘Well, let’s start then!’ He stepped out of the front-door.
It was a fine night, and the black sky was dotted with stars. He
looked up, sniffing the air. ‘What fun! What fun to be off again, off
on the Road with dwarves! This is what I have really been longing
for, for years! Good-bye!’ he said, looking at his old home and bowing
to the door. ‘Good-bye, Gandalf!’
‘Good-bye, for the present, Bilbo. Take care of yourself! You are
old enough, and perhaps wise enough.’
“Take care! I don’t care. Don’t you worry about me! I am as happy
now as I have ever been, and that is saying a great deal. But the time
has come. I am being swept off my feet at last,’ he added, and then
in a low voice, as if to himself, he sang softly in the dark:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
36 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
He paused, silent for a moment. Then without another word he
turned away from the lights and voices in the field and tents, and
followed by his three companions went round into his garden, and
trotted down the long sloping path. He jumped over a low place in
the hedge at the bottom, and took to the meadows, passing into the
night like a rustle of wind in the grass.
Gandalf remained for a while staring after him into the darkness.
‘Good-bye, my dear Bilbo — until our next meeting!’ he said softly
and went back indoors.
Frodo came in soon afterwards, and found him sitting in the dark,
deep in thought. ‘Has he gone?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ answered Gandalf, ‘he has gone at last.’
‘I wish — I mean, I hoped until this evening that it was only a
joke,’ said Frodo. ‘But I knew in my heart that he really meant to
go. He always used to joke about serious things. I wish I had come
back sooner, just to see him off.’
‘I think really he preferred slipping off quietly in the end,’ said
Gandalf. ‘Don’t be too troubled. He’ll be all right — now. He left a
packet for you. There it is!’
Frodo took the envelope from the mantelpiece, and glanced at it,
but did not open it.
‘You’ll find his will and all the other documents in there, I think,’
said the wizard. ‘You are the master of Bag End now. And also, I
fancy, youll find a golden ring.’
“The ring!’ exclaimed Frodo. ‘Has he left me that? I wonder why.
Still, it may be useful.’
‘It may, and it may not,’ said Gandalf. ‘I should not make use of
it, if I were you. But keep it secret, and keep it safe! Now I am going
to bed.’
As master of Bag End Frodo felt it his painful duty to say good-bye
to the guests. Rumours of strange events had by now spread all over
the field, but Frodo would only say no doubt everything will be cleared
up in the morning. About midnight carriages came for the important
folk. One by one they rolled away, filled with full but very unsatisfied
hobbits. Gardeners came by arrangement, and removed in wheel-
barrows those that had inadvertently remained behind.
Night slowly passed. The sun rose. The hobbits rose rather later.
Morning went on. People came and began (by orders) to clear away
the pavilions and the tables and the chairs, and the spoons and knives
and bottles and plates, and the lanterns, and the flowering shrubs in
boxes, and the crumbs and cracker-paper, the forgotten bags and
gloves and handkerchiefs, and the uneaten food (a very small item).
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 37
Then a number of other people came (without orders): Bagginses,
and Boffins, and Bolgers, and Tooks, and other guests that lived or
were staying near. By mid-day, when even the best-fed were out and
about again, there was a large crowd at Bag End, uninvited but not
unexpected.
Frodo was waiting on the step, smiling, but looking rather tired
and worried. He welcomed all the callers, but he had not much more
to say than before. His reply to all inquiries was simply this: ‘Mr.
Bilbo Baggins has gone away; as far as I know, for good.’ Some of
the visitors he invited to come inside, as Bilbo had left ‘messages’
for them.
Inside in the hall there was piled a large assortment of packages
and parcels and small articles of furniture. On every item there was
a label tied. There were several labels of this sort:
For ADELARD TOOK, for his VERY OWN, from Bilbo; on an
umbrella. Adelard had carried off many unlabelled ones.
For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with
love from Bilbo; on a large waste-paper basket. Dora was Drogo’s
sister and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she
was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than
half a century.
For MILO BURROWS, hoping it will be useful, from B.B.; on a
gold pen and ink-bottle. Milo never answered letters.
For ANGELICA’S use, from Uncle Bilbo; on a round convex mirror.
She was a young Baggins, and too obviously considered her face
shapely.
For the collection ofp HUGO BRACEGIRDLE, from a contributor; on
an (empty) book-case. Hugo was a great borrower of books, and
worse than usual at returning them.
For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT; on a
case of silver spoons. Bilbo believed that she had acquired a good
many of his spoons, while he was away on his former journey. Lobelia
knew that quite well. When she arrived later in the day, she took the
point at once, but she also took the spoons.
This is only a small selection of the assembled presents. Bilbo’s
residence had got rather cluttered up with things in the course of his
long life. It was a tendency of hobbit-holes to get cluttered up: for
which the custom of giving so many birthday-presents was largely
responsible. Not, of course, that the birthday-presents were always
new; there were one or two old mathoms of forgotten uses that had
circulated all around the district; but Bilbo had usually given new
presents, and kept those that he received. The old hole was now
being cleared a little.
38 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Every one of the various parting gifts had labels, written out per-
sonally by Bilbo, and several had some point, or some joke. But, of
course, most of the things were given where they would be wanted
and welcome. The poorer hobbits, and especially those of Bagshot
Row, did very well. Old Gaffer Gamgee got two sacks of potatoes,
a new spade, a woollen waistcoat, and a bottle of ointment for creak-
ing joints. Old Rory Brandybuck, in return for much hospitality,
got a dozen bottles of Old Winyards: a strong red wine from the
Southfarthing, and now quite mature, as it had been laid down by
Bilbo’s father. Rory quite forgave Bilbo, and voted him a capital
fellow after the first bottle.
There was plenty of everything left for Frodo. And, of course, all
the chief treasures, as well as the books, pictures, and more than
enough furniture, were left in his possession. There was, however,
no sign nor mention of money or jewellery: not a penny-piece or a
glass bead was given away.
Frodo had a very trying time that afternoon. A false rumour that
the whole household was being distributed free spread like wildfire;
and before long the place was packed with people who had no
business there, but could not be kept out. Labels got torn off and
mixed, and quarrels broke out. Some people tried to do swaps and
deals in the hall; and others tried to make off with minor items
not addressed to them, or with anything that seemed unwanted or
unwatched. The road to the gate was blocked with barrows and
handcarts.
In the middle of the commotion the Sackville-Bagginses arrived.
Frodo had retired for a while and left his friend Merry Brandybuck
to keep an eye on things. When Otho loudly demanded to see Frodo,
Merry bowed politely.
‘He is indisposed,’ he said. ‘He is resting.’
‘Hiding, you mean,’ said Lobelia. ‘Anyway we want to see him
and we mean to see him. Just go and tell him so!’
Merry left them a long while in the hall, and they had time to
discover their parting gift of spoons. It did not improve their tempers.
Eventually they were shown into the study. Frodo was sitting at a
table with a lot of papers in front of him. He looked indisposed — to
see Sackville-Bagginses at any rate; and he stood up, fidgeting with
something in his pocket. But he spoke quite politely.
The Sackville-Bagginses were rather offensive. They began by
offering him bad bargain-prices (as between friends) for various valu-
able and unlabelled things. When Frodo replied that only the things
specially directed by Bilbo were being given away, they said the whole
affair was very fishy.
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 39
‘Only one thing is clear to me,’ said Otho, ‘and that is that you
are doing exceedingly well out of it. I insist on seeing the will.’
Otho would have been Bilbo’s heir, but for the adoption of
Frodo. He read the will carefully and snorted. It was, unfortunately,
very clear and correct (according to the legal customs of hobbits,
which demand among other things seven signatures of witnesses in
red ink).
‘Foiled again!’ he said to his wife. ‘And after waiting szxty years.
Spoons? Fiddlesticks!’ He snapped his fingers under Frodo’s nose
and stumped off. But Lobelia was not so easily got rid of. A little
later Frodo came out of the study to see how things were going on,
and found her still about the place, investigating nooks and corners,
and tapping the floors. He escorted her firmly off the premises, after
he had relieved her of several small (but rather valuable) articles that
had somehow fallen inside her umbrella. Her face looked as if she
was in the throes of thinking out a really crushing parting remark;
but all she found to say, turning round on the step, was:
“You’ll live to regret it, young fellow! Why didn’t you go too? You
don’t belong here; you’re no Baggins — you — you’re a Brandybuck!’
‘Did you hear that, Merry? That was an insult, if you like,’ said
Frodo as he shut the door on her.
‘It was a compliment,’ said Merry Brandybuck, ‘and so, of course,
not true.’
Then they went round the hole, and evicted three young hobbits
(two Boffins and a Bolger) who were knocking holes in the walls of
one of the cellars. Frodo also had a tussle with young Sancho
Proudfoot (old Odo Proudfoot’s grandson), who had begun an exca-
vation in the larger pantry, where he thought there was an echo. The
legend of Bilbo’s gold excited both curiosity and hope; for legendary
gold (mysteriously obtained, if not positively ill-gotten), is, as every-
one knows, anyone’s for the finding — unless the search is interrupted.
When he had overcome Sancho and pushed him out, Frodo col-
lapsed on a chair in the hall. ‘It’s time to close the shop, Merry,’ he
said. ‘Lock the door, and don’t open it to anyone today, not even if
they bring a battering ram.’ Then he went to revive himself with a
belated cup of tea.
He had hardly sat down, when there came a soft knock at the
front-door. ‘Lobelia again most likely,’ he thought. ‘She must have
thought of something really nasty, and have come back again to say
it. It can wait.’
He went on with his tea. The knock was repeated, much louder,
but he took no notice. Suddenly the wizard’s head appeared at the
window.
40 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘If you don’t let me in, Frodo, I shall blow your door right down
your hole and out through the hill,’ he said.
‘My dear Gandalf! Half a minute!’ cried Frodo, running out of
the room to the door. ‘Come in! Come in! I thought it was Lobelia.’
“Then I forgive you. But I saw her some time ago, driving a pony-
trap towards Bywater with a face that would have curdled new milk.’
‘She had already nearly curdled me. Honestly, I nearly tried on
Bilbo’s ring. I longed to disappear.’
‘Don’t do that!’ said Gandalf, sitting down. ‘Do be careful of that
ring, Frodo! In fact, it is partly about that that I have come to say a
last word.’
‘Well, what about it?’
‘What do you know already?’
‘Only what Bilbo told me. I have heard his story: how he found
it, and how he used it: on his journey, I mean.’
‘Which story, I wonder,’ said Gandalf.
‘Oh, not what he told the dwarves and put in his book,’ said Frodo.
‘He told me the true story soon after I came to live here. He said
you had pestered him till he told you, so I had better know too. ‘‘No
secrets between us, Frodo,” he said; “‘but they are not to go any
further. It’s mine anyway.”’’
“That’s interesting,’ said Gandalf. ‘Well, what did you think of it
all?”
‘If you mean, inventing all that about a “‘present”’, well, I thought
the true story much more likely, and I couldn’t see the point of
altering it at all. It was very unlike Bilbo to do so, anyway; and I
thought it rather odd.’
‘So did I. But odd things may happen to people that have such
treasures — if they use them. Let it be a warning to you to be very
careful with it. It may have other powers than just making you vanish
when you wish to.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Frodo.
‘Neither do I,’ answered the wizard. ‘I have merely begun to
wonder about the ring, especially since last night. No need to worry.
But if you take my advice you will use it very seldom, or not at all.
At least I beg you not to use it in any way that will cause talk or
rouse suspicion. I say again: keep it safe, and keep it secret!’
“You are very mysterious! What are you afraid of?’
‘I am not certain, so I will say no more. I may be able to tell you
something when I come back. I am going off at once: so this is
good-bye for the present.’ He got up.
‘At once!’ cried Frodo. ‘Why, I thought you were staying on for
at least a week. I was looking forward to your help.’
‘I did mean to — but I have had to change my mind. I may be
A LONG-EXPECTED PARTY 41
away for a good while; but P’ll come and see you again, as soon as I
can. Expect me when you see me! I shall slip in quietly. I shan’t often
be visiting the Shire openly again. I find that I have become rather
unpopular. They say I am a nuisance and a disturber of the peace.
Some people are actually accusing me of spiriting Bilbo away, or
worse. If you want to know, there is supposed to be a plot between
you and me to get hold of his wealth.’
‘Some people!’ exclaimed Frodo. ‘You mean Otho and Lobelia.
How abominable! I would give them Bag End and everything else,
if I could get Bilbo back and go off tramping in the country with
him. I love the Shire. But I begin to wish, somehow, that I had gone
too. I wonder if I shall ever see him again.’
‘So do I,’ said Gandalf. ‘And I wonder many other things. Good-
bye now! Take care of yourself! Look out for me, especially at unlikely
times! Good-bye!’
Frodo saw him to the door. He gave a final wave of his hand, and
walked off at a surprising pace; but Frodo thought the old wizard
looked unusually bent, almost as if he was carrying a great weight.
The evening was closing in, and his cloaked figure quickly vanished
into the twilight. Frodo did not see him again for a long time.
Chapter 2
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST
The talk did not die down in nine or even ninety-nine days. The
second disappearance of Mr. Bilbo Baggins was discussed in Hobbi-
ton, and indeed all over the Shire, for a year and a day, and was
remembered much longer than that. It became a fireside-story for
young hobbits; and eventually Mad Baggins, who used to vanish with
a bang and a flash and reappear with bags of jewels and gold, became
a favourite character of legend and lived on long after all the true
events were forgotten.
But in the meantime, the general opinion in the neighbourhood
was that Bilbo, who had always been rather cracked, had at last gone
quite mad, and had run off into the Blue. There he had undoubtedly
fallen into a pool or a river and come to a tragic, but hardly an
untimely, end. The blame was mostly laid on Gandalf.
‘If only that dratted wizard will leave young Frodo alone, perhaps
he’ll settle down and grow some hobbit-sense,’ they said. And to all
appearance the wizard did leave Frodo alone, and he did settle down,
but the growth of hobbit-sense was not very noticeable. Indeed, he
at once began to carry on Bilbo’s reputation for oddity. He refused
to go into mourning; and the next year he gave a party in honour of
Bilbo’s hundred-and-twelfth birthday, which he called a Hundred-
weight Feast. But that was short of the mark, for twenty guests were
invited and there were several meals at which it snowed food and
rained drink, as hobbits say.
Some people were rather shocked; but Frodo kept up the custom
of giving Bilbo’s Birthday Party year after year until they got used to
it. He said that he did not think Bilbo was dead. When they asked:
‘Where is he then?’ he shrugged his shoulders.
He lived alone, as Bilbo had done; but he had a good many
friends, especially among the younger hobbits (mostly descen-
dants of the Old Took) who had as children been fond of Bilbo and
often in and out of Bag End. Folco Boffin and Fredegar Bolger
were two of these; but his closest friends were Peregrin Took
(usually called Pippin), and Merry Brandybuck (his real name was
Meriadoc, but that was seldom remembered). Frodo went tramping
over the Shire with them; but more often he wandered by himself,
and to the amazement of sensible folk he was sometimes seen far
from home walking in the hills and woods under the starlight. Merry
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 43
and Pippin suspected that he visited the Elves at times, as Bilbo had
done.
As time went on, people began to notice that Frodo also showed
signs of good ‘preservation’: outwardly he retained the appearance
of a robust and energetic hobbit just out of his tweens. ‘Some folk
have all the luck,’ they said; but it was not until Frodo approached
the usually more sober age of fifty that they began to think it queer.
Frodo himself, after the first shock, found that being his own
master and the Mr. Baggins of Bag End was rather pleasant. For
some years he was quite happy and did not worry much about the
future. But half unknown to himself the regret that he had not gone
with Bilbo was steadily growing. He found himself wondering at
times, especially in the autumn, about the wild lands, and strange
visions of mountains that he had never seen came into his dreams.
He began to say to himself: ‘Perhaps I shall cross the River myself one
day.’ To which the other half of his mind always replied: ‘Not yet.’
So it went on, until his forties were running out, and his fiftieth
birthday was drawing near: fifty was a number that he felt was some-
how significant (or ominous); it was at any rate at that age that
adventure had suddenly befallen Bilbo. Frodo began to feel restless,
and the old paths seemed too well-trodden. He looked at maps, and
wondered what lay beyond their edges: maps made in the Shire
showed mostly white spaces beyond its borders. He took to wandering
further afield and more often by himself; and Merry and his other
friends watched him anxiously. Often he was seen walking and talking
with the strange wayfarers that began at this time to appear in the
Shire.
There were rumours of strange things happening in the world
outside; and as Gandalf had not at that time appeared or sent any
message for several years, Frodo gathered all the news he could.
Elves, who seldom walked in the Shire, could now be seen passing
westward through the woods in the evening, passing and not
returning; but they were leaving Middle-earth and were no longer
concerned with its troubles. There were, however, dwarves on the
road in unusual numbers. The ancient East-West Road ran through
the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens, and dwarves had always
used it on their way to their mines in the Blue Mountains. They were
the hobbits’ chief source of news from distant parts — if they wanted
any: as a rule dwarves said little and hobbits asked no more. But now
Frodo often met strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in
the West. They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the
Enemy and of the Land of Mordor.
44 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
That name the hobbits only knew in legends of the dark past, like
a shadow in the background of their memories; but it was ominous
and disquieting. It seemed that the evil power in Mirkwood had been
driven out by the White Council only to reappear in greater strength
in the old strongholds of Mordor. The Dark Tower had been rebuilt,
it was said. From there the power was spreading far and wide, and
away far east and south there were wars and growing fear. Orcs were
multiplying again in the mountains. Trolls were abroad, no longer
dull-witted, but cunning and armed with dreadful weapons. And
there were murmured hints of creatures more terrible than all these,
but they had no name.
Little of all this, of course, reached the ears of ordinary hobbits.
But even the deafest and most stay-at-home began to hear queer
tales; and those whose business took them to the borders saw strange
things. The conversation in The Green Dragon at Bywater, one evening
in the spring of Frodo’s fiftieth year, showed that even in the comfort-
able heart of the Shire rumours had been heard, though most hobbits
still laughed at them.
Sam Gamgee was sitting in one corner near the fire, and opposite
him was Ted Sandyman, the miller’s son; and there were various
other rustic hobbits listening to their talk.
‘Queer things you do hear these days, to be sure,’ said Sam.
‘Ah,’ said Ted, ‘you do, if you listen. But I can hear fireside-tales
and children’s stories at home, if I want to.’
‘No doubt you can,’ retorted Sam, ‘and I daresay there’s more
truth in some of them than you reckon. Who invented the stories
anyway? Take dragons now.’
‘No thank ’ee,’ said Ted, ‘I won’t. I heard tell of them when I was a
youngster, but there’s no call to believe in them now. There’s only one
Dragon in Bywater, and that’s Green,’ he said, getting a general laugh.
‘All right,’ said Sam, laughing with the rest. ‘But what about these
Tree-men, these giants, as you might call them? They do say that
one bigger than a tree was seen up away beyond the North Moors
not long back.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘My cousin Hal for one. He works for Mr. Boffin at Overhill and
goes up to the Northfarthing for the hunting. He saw one.’
‘Says he did, perhaps. Your Hal’s always saying he’s seen things;
and maybe he sees things that ain’t there.’
‘But this one was as big as an elm tree, and walking — walking
seven yards to a stride, if it was an inch.’
“Then I bet it wasn’t an inch. What he saw was an elm tree, as
like as not.’
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 45
‘But this one was walking, I tell you; and there ain’t no elm tree
on the North Moors.’
“Then Hal can’t have seen one,’ said Ted. There was some laugh-
ing and clapping: the audience seemed to think that Ted had scored
a point.
‘All the same,’ said Sam, ‘you can’t deny that others besides our
Halfast have seen queer folk crossing the Shire — crossing it, mind
you: there are more that are turned back at the borders. The Bounders
have never been so busy before.
‘And I’ve heard tell that Elves are moving west. They do say they
are going to the harbours, out away beyond the White Towers.’ Sam
waved his arm vaguely: neither he nor any of them knew how far it
was to the Sea, past the old towers beyond the western borders of
the Shire. But it was an old tradition that away over there stood the
Grey Havens, from which at times elven-ships set sail, never to return.
“They are sailing, sailing, sailing over the Sea, they are going into
the West and leaving us,’ said Sam, half chanting the words, shaking
his head sadly and solemnly. But Ted laughed.
‘Well, that isn’t anything new, if you believe the old tales. And I
don’t see what it matters to me or you. Let them sail! But I warrant
you haven’t seen them doing it; nor anyone else in the Shire.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Sam thoughtfully. He believed he had
once seen an Elf in the woods, and still hoped to see more one day.
Of all the legends that he had heard in his early years such fragments
of tales and half-remembered stories about the Elves as the hobbits
knew, had always moved him most deeply. “There are some, even in
these parts, as know the Fair Folk and get news of them,’ he said.
“There’s Mr. Baggins now, that I work for. He told me that they
were sailing and he knows a bit about Elves. And old Mr. Bilbo knew
more: many’s the talk I had with him when I was a little lad.’
‘Oh, they’re both cracked,’ said Ted. ‘Leastways old Bilbo was
cracked, and Frodo’s cracking. If that’s where you get your news
from, you’ll never want for moonshine. Well, friends, I’m off home.
Your good health!’ He drained his mug and went out noisily.
Sam sat silent and said no more. He had a good deal to think
about. For one thing, there was a lot to do up in the Bag End garden,
and he would have a busy day tomorrow, if the weather cleared. The
grass was growing fast. But Sam had more on his mind than garden-
ing. After a while he sighed, and got up and went out.
It was early April and the sky was now clearing after heavy rain.
The sun was down, and a cool pale evening was quietly fading into
night. He walked home under the early stars through Hobbiton and
up the Hill, whistling softly and thoughtfully.
DS BS
46 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
It was just at this time that Gandalf reappeared after his long
absence. For three years after the Party he had been away. Then he
paid Frodo a brief visit, and after taking a good look at him he went
off again. During the next year or two he had turned up fairly often,
coming unexpectedly after dusk, and going off without warning
before sunrise. He would not discuss his own business and journeys,
and seemed chiefly interested in small news about Frodo’s health
and doings.
Then suddenly his visits had ceased. It was over nine years since
Frodo had seen or heard of him, and he had begun to think that the
wizard would never return and had given up all interest in hobbits.
But that evening, as Sam was walking home and twilight was fading,
there came the once familiar tap on the study window.
Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight.
They looked hard at one another.
‘All well eh?’ said Gandalf. ‘You look the same as ever, Frodo!’
‘So do you,’ Frodo replied; but secretly he thought that Gandalf
looked older and more careworn. He pressed him for news of himself
and of the wide world, and soon they were deep in talk, and they
stayed up far into the night.
Next morning after a late breakfast, the wizard was sitting with
Frodo by the open window of the study. A bright fire was on the
hearth, but the sun was warm, and the wind was in the South. Every-
thing looked fresh, and the new green of spring was shimmering in
the fields and on the tips of the trees’ fingers.
Gandalf was thinking of a spring, nearly eighty years before, when
Bilbo had run out of Bag End without a handkerchief. His hair was
perhaps whiter than it had been then, and his beard and eyebrows
were perhaps longer, and his face more lined with care and wisdom;
but his eyes were as bright as ever, and he smoked and blew smoke-
rings with the same vigour and delight.
He was smoking now in silence, for Frodo was sitting still, deep
in thought. Even in the light of morning he felt the dark shadow of
the tidings that Gandalf had brought. At last he broke the silence.
‘Last night you began to tell me strange things about my ring,
Gandalf,’ he said. ‘And then you stopped, because you said that such
matters were best left until daylight. Don’t you think you had better
finish now? You say the ring is dangerous, far more dangerous than
I guess. In what way?’
‘In many ways,’ answered the wizard. ‘It is far more powerful than
I ever dared to think at first, so powerful that in the end it would
utterly overcome anyone of mortal race who possessed it. It would
possess him.
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 47
‘In Eregion long ago many Elven-rings were made, magic rings as
you call them, and they were, of course, of various kinds: some more
potent and some less. The lesser rings were only essays in the craft
before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles
— yet still to my mind dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings,
the Rings of Power, they were perilous.
‘A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not
die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues,
until at last every minute is a weariness. And if he often uses the
Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end
invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the
Dark Power that rules the Rings. Yes, sooner or later — later, if he is
strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good
purpose will last — sooner or later the Dark Power will devour him.’
‘How terrifying!’ said Frodo. There was another long silence. The
sound of Sam Gamgee cutting the lawn came in from the garden.
‘How long have you known this?’ asked Frodo at length. ‘And
how much did Bilbo know?’
‘Bilbo knew no more than he told you, I am sure,’ said Gandalf.
‘He would certainly never have passed on to you anything that he
thought would be a danger, even though I promised to look after
you. He thought the ring was very beautiful, and very useful at need;
and if anything was wrong or queer, it was himself. He said that it
was “‘growing on his mind’’, and he was always worrying about it;
but he did not suspect that the ring itself was to blame. Though he
had found out that the thing needed looking after; it did not seem
always of the same size or weight; it shrank or expanded in an odd
way, and might suddenly slip off a finger where it had been tight.’
‘Yes, he warned me of that in his last letter,’ said Frodo, ‘so I
have always kept it on its chain.’
‘Very wise,’ said Gandalf. ‘But as for his long life, Bilbo never con-
nected it with the ring at all. He took all the credit for that to himself,
and he was very proud of it. Though he was getting restless and uneasy.
Thin and stretched he said. A sign that the ring was getting control.’
‘How long have you known all this?’ asked Frodo again.
‘Known?’ said Gandalf. ‘I have known much that only the Wise
know, Frodo. But if you mean “known about this ring’’, well, I still
do not know, one might say. There is a last test to make. But I no
longer doubt my guess.
‘When did I first begin to guess?’ he mused, searching back in
memory. ‘Let me see — it was in the year that the White Council
drove the Dark Power from Mirkwood, just before the Battle of Five
Armies, that Bilbo found his ring. A shadow fell on my heart then,
48 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
though I did not know yet what I feared. I wondered often how
Gollum came by a Great Ring, as plainly it was — that at least was
clear from the first. Then I heard Bilbo’s strange story of how he had
“won” it, and I could not believe it. When I at last got the truth out
of him, I saw at once that he had been trying to put his claim to the
ring beyond doubt. Much like Gollum with his “birthday-present’’.
The lies were too much alike for my comfort. Clearly the ring had
an unwholesome power that set to work on its keeper at once. That
was the first real warning I had that all was not well. I told Bilbo
often that such rings were better left unused; but he resented it, and
soon got angry. There was little else that I could do. I could not take
it from him without doing greater harm; and I had no right to do so
anyway. I could only watch and wait. I might perhaps have consulted
Saruman the White, but something always held me back.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Frodo. ‘I have never heard of him before.’
‘Maybe not,’ answered Gandalf. ‘Hobbits are, or were, no concern
of his. Yet he is great among the Wise. He is the chief of my order
and the head of the Council. His knowledge is deep, but his pride
has grown with it, and he takes ill any meddling. The lore of the
Elven-rings, great and small, is his province. He has long studied it,
seeking the lost secrets of their making; but when the Rings were
debated in the Council, all that he would reveal to us of his ring-lore
told against my fears. So my doubt slept — but uneasily. Still I watched
and I waited.
‘And all seemed well with Bilbo. And the years passed. Yes, they
passed, and they seemed not to touch him. He showed no signs of
age. The shadow fell on me again. But I said to myself: “‘After all he
comes of a long-lived family on his mother’s side. There is time yet.
Wait!”
‘And I waited. Until that night when he left this house. He said
and did things then that filled me with a fear that no words of
Saruman could allay. I knew at last that something dark and deadly
was at work. And I have spent most of the years since then in finding
out the truth of it.’
“There wasn’t any permanent harm done, was there?’ asked Frodo
anxiously. ‘He would get all right in time, wouldn’t he? Be able to
rest in peace, I mean?’
‘He felt better at once,’ said Gandalf. ‘But there is only one Power
in this world that knows all about the Rings and their effects; and as
far as I know there is no Power in the world that knows all about
hobbits. Among the Wise I am the only one that goes in for hobbit-
lore: an obscure branch of knowledge, but full of surprises. Soft as
butter they can be, and yet sometimes as tough as old tree-roots. I
think it likely that some would resist the Rings far longer than most
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 49
of the Wise would believe. I don’t think you need worry about Bilbo.
‘Of course, he possessed the ring for many years, and used it, so
it might take a long while for the influence to wear off — before it
was safe for him to see it again, for instance. Otherwise, he might
live on for years, quite happily: just stop as he was when he parted
with it. For he gave it up in the end of his own accord: an important
point. No, I was not troubled about dear Bilbo any more, once he
had let the thing go. It is for you that I feel responsible.
‘Ever since Bilbo left I have been deeply concerned about you,
and about all these charming, absurd, helpless hobbits. It would be
a grievous blow to the world, if the Dark Power overcame the Shire;
if all your kind, jolly, stupid Bolgers, Hornblowers, Boffins, Brace-
girdles, and the rest, not to mention the ridiculous Bagginses, became
enslaved.’
Frodo shuddered. ‘But why should we be?’ he asked. ‘And why
should he want such slaves?’
“To tell you the truth,’ replied Gandalf, ‘I believe that hitherto —
hitherto, mark you — he has entirely overlooked the existence of
hobbits. You should be thankful. But your safety has passed. He does
not need you — he has many more useful servants — but he won’t
forget you again. And hobbits as miserable slaves would please him
far more than hobbits happy and free. There is such a thing as malice
and revenge.’
‘Revenge?’ said Frodo. ‘Revenge for what? I still don’t understand
what all this has to do with Bilbo and myself, and our ring.’
‘It has everything to do with it,’ said Gandalf. “You do not know
the real peril yet; but you shall. I was not sure of it myself when I
was last here; but the time has come to speak. Give me the ring for
a moment.’
Frodo took it from his breeches-pocket, where it was clasped to a
chain that hung from his belt. He unfastened it and handed it slowly
to the wizard. It felt suddenly very heavy, as if either it or Frodo
himself was in some way reluctant for Gandalf to touch it.
Gandalf held it up. It looked to be made of pure and solid gold.
‘Can you see any markings on it?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Frodo. “There are none. It is quite plain, and it never
shows a scratch or sign of wear.’
‘Well then, look!’ To Frodo’s astonishment and distress the wizard
threw it suddenly into the middle of a glowing corner of the fire.
Frodo gave a cry and groped for the tongs; but Gandalf held him
back.
‘Wait!’ he said in a commanding voice, giving Frodo a quick look
from under his bristling brows.
50 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
No apparent change came over the ring. After a while Gandalf got
up, closed the shutters outside the window, and drew the curtains.
The room became dark and silent, though the clack of Sam’s shears,
now nearer to the windows, could still be heard faintly from the
garden. For a moment the wizard stood looking at the fire; then he
stooped and removed the ring to the hearth with the tongs, and at
once picked it up. Frodo gasped.
‘It is quite cool,’ said Gandalf. “Take it!’ Frodo received it on his
shrinking palm: it seemed to have become thicker and heavier than
ever.
‘Hold it up!’ said Gandalf. ‘And look closely!’
As Frodo did so, he now saw fine lines, finer than the finest pen-
strokes, running along the ring, outside and inside: lines of fire that
seemed to form the letters of a flowing script. They shone piercingly
bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth.
XV * Cf Po} 5 Come
jh A thy Lach Lu J
‘I cannot read the fiery letters,’ said Frodo in a quavering voice.
‘No,’ said Gandalf, ‘but I can. The letters are Elvish, of an ancient
mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.
But this in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough:
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore:
Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.’
He paused, and then said slowly in a deep voice: “This is the
Master-ring, the One Ring to rule them all. This is the One Ring
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 51
that he lost many ages ago, to the great weakening of his power. He
greatly desires it — but he must not get it.’
Frodo sat silent and motionless. Fear seemed to stretch out a vast
hand, like a dark cloud rising in the East and looming up to engulf
him. ‘This ring!’ he stammered. ‘How, how on earth did it come to
me?’
‘Ah!’ said Gandalf. “That is a very long story. The beginnings lie
back in the Black Years, which only the lore-masters now remember.
If I were to tell you all that tale, we should still be sitting here when
Spring had passed into Winter.
‘But last night I told you of Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord.
The rumours that you have heard are true: he has indeed arisen again
and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness
in the Dark Tower of Mordor. That name even you hobbits have
heard of, like a shadow on the borders of old stories. Always after a
defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows
again.’
‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo.
‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times.
But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to
do with the time that is given us. And already, Frodo, our time is
beginning to look black. The Enemy is fast becoming very strong.
His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening. We shall
be hard put to it. We should be very hard put to it, even if it were
not for this dreadful chance.
“The Enemy still lacks one thing to give him strength and know-
ledge to beat down all resistance, break the last defences, and cover
all the lands in a second darkness. He lacks the One Ring.
“The Three, fairest of all, the Elf-lords hid from him, and his
hand never touched them or sullied them. Seven the Dwarf-kings
possessed, but three he has recovered, and the others the dragons
have consumed. Nine he gave to Mortal Men, proud and great, and
so ensnared them. Long ago they fell under the dominion of the One,
and they became Ringwraiths, shadows under his great Shadow, his
most terrible servants. Long ago. It is many a year since the Nine
walked abroad. Yet who knows? As the Shadow grows once more,
they too may walk again. But come! We will not speak of such things
even in the morning of the Shire.
‘So it is now: the Nine he has gathered to himself; the Seven also,
or else they are destroyed. The Three are hidden still. But that no
longer troubles him. He only needs the One; for he made that Ring
himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass
into it, so that he could rule all the others. If he recovers it, then he
52 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
will command them all again, wherever they be, even the Three, and
all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be
stronger than ever.
‘And this is the dreadful chance, Frodo. He believed that the One
had perished; that the Elves had destroyed it, as should have been
done. But he knows now that it has ot perished, that it has been
found. So he is seeking it, seeking it, and all his thought is bent on
it. It is his great hope and our great fear.’
‘Why, why wasn’t it destroyed?’ cried Frodo. ‘And how did the
Enemy ever come to lose it, if he was so strong, and it was so precious
to him?’ He clutched the Ring in his hand, as if he saw already dark
fingers stretching out to seize it.
‘It was taken from him,’ said Gandalf. “The strength of the Elves
to resist him was greater long ago; and not all Men were estranged
from them. The Men of Westernesse came to their aid. That is a
chapter of ancient history which it might be good to recall; for there
was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great
deeds that were not wholly vain. One day, perhaps, I will tell you all
the tale, or you shall hear it told in full by one who knows it best.
‘But for the moment, since most of all you need to know how
this thing came to you, and that will be tale enough, this is all that
I will say. It was Gil-galad, Elven-king and Elendil of Westernesse
who overthrew Sauron, though they themselves perished in the deed;
and Isildur Elendil’s son cut the Ring from Sauron’s hand and took
it for his own. Then Sauron was vanquished and his spirit fled and
was hidden for long years, until his shadow took shape again in
Mirkwood.
‘But the Ring was lost. It fell into the Great River, Anduin, and
vanished. For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the
River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of
the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain. He leaped into the
waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and then
the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows.’
Gandalf paused. ‘And there in the dark pools amid the Gladden
Fields,’ he said, ‘the Ring passed out of knowledge and legend; and
even so much of its history is known now only to a few, and the
Council of the Wise could discover no more. But at last I can carry
on the story, I think.
‘Long after, but still very long ago, there lived by the banks of the
Great River on the edge of Wilderland a clever-handed and quiet-
footed little people. I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the
fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often
swam in it, or made little boats of reeds. There was among them a
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 53
family of high repute, for it was large and wealthier than most, and
it was ruled by a grandmother of the folk, stern and wise in old lore,
such as they had. The most inquisitive and curious-minded of that
family was called Sméagol. He was interested in roots and beginnings;
he dived into deep pools; he burrowed under trees and growing
plants; he tunnelled into green mounds; and he ceased to look up at
the hill-tops, or the leaves on trees, or the flowers opening in the air:
his head and his eyes were downward.
‘He had a friend called Déagol, of similar sort, sharper-eyed but
not so quick and strong. On a time they took a boat and went down
to the Gladden Fields, where there were great beds of iris and flower-
ing reeds. There Sméagol got out and went nosing about the banks
but Déagol sat in the boat and fished. Suddenly a great fish took his
hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and
down into the water, to the bottom. Then he let go of his line, for
he thought he saw something shining in the river-bed; and holding
his breath he grabbed at it.
“Then up he came spluttering, with weeds in his hair and a handful
of mud; and he swam to the bank. And behold! when he washed the
mud away, there in his hand lay a beautiful golden ring; and it shone
and glittered in the sun, so that his heart was glad. But Sméagol had
been watching him from behind a tree, and as Déagol gloated over
the ring, Sméagol came softly up behind.
‘**Give us that, Déagol, my love,”’ said Sméagol, over his friend’s
shoulder.
“Why?” said Déagol.
“Because it’s my birthday, my love, and I wants it,”’ said Sméagol.
‘“T don’t care,”’ said Déagol. “I have given you a present already,
more than I could afford. I found this, and I’m going to keep it.”
‘Oh, are you indeed, my love,” said Sméagol; and he caught
Déagol by the throat and strangled him, because the gold looked so
bright and beautiful. Then he put the ring on his finger.
‘No one ever found out what had become of Déagol; he was
murdered far from home, and his body was cunningly hidden. But
Sméagol returned alone; and he found that none of his family could
see him, when he was wearing the ring. He was very pleased with
his discovery and he concealed it; and he used it to find out secrets,
and he put his knowledge to crooked and malicious uses. He became
sharp-eyed and keen-eared for all that was hurtful. The ring had
given him power according to his stature. It is not to be wondered
at that he became very unpopular and was shunned (when visible)
by all his relations. They kicked him, and he bit their feet. He took
to thieving, and going about muttering to himself, and gurgling in
his throat. So they called him Gollum, and cursed him, and told him
54 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
to go far away; and his grandmother, desiring peace, expelled him
from the family and turned him out of her hole.
‘He wandered in loneliness, weeping a little for the hardness of
the world, and he journeyed up the River, till he came to a stream
that flowed down from the mountains, and he went that way. He
caught fish in deep pools with invisible fingers and ate them raw.
One day it was very hot, and as he was bending over a pool, he felt
a burning on the back of his head, and a dazzling light from the water
pained his wet eyes. He wondered at it, for he had almost forgotten
about the Sun. Then for the last time he looked up and shook his
fist at her.
‘But as he lowered his eyes, he saw far ahead the tops of the Misty
Mountains, out of which the stream came. And he thought suddenly:
“It would be cool and shady under those mountains. The Sun could
not watch me there. The roots of those mountains must be roots
indeed; there must be great secrets buried there which have not been
discovered since the beginning.”’
‘So he journeyed by night up into the highlands, and he found a
little cave out of which the dark stream ran; and he wormed his way
like a maggot into the heart of the hills, and vanished out of all
knowledge. The Ring went into the shadows with him, and even the
maker, when his power had begun to grow again, could learn nothing
of it.’
‘Gollum!’ cried Frodo. ‘Gollum? Do you mean that this is the very
Gollum-creature that Bilbo met? How loathsome!’
‘I think it is a sad story,’ said the wizard, ‘and it might have
happened to others, even to some hobbits that I have known.’
‘I can’t believe that Gollum was connected with hobbits, however
distantly,’ said Frodo with some heat. ‘What an abominable notion!’
‘It is true all the same,’ replied Gandalf. ‘About their origins, at
any rate, I know more than hobbits do themselves. And even Bilbo’s
story suggests the kinship. There was a great deal in the background
of their minds and memories that was very similar. They understood
one another remarkably well, very much better than a hobbit would
understand, say, a Dwarf, or an Orc, or even an Elf. Think of the
riddles they both knew, for one thing.’
‘Yes,’ said Frodo. “Though other folks besides hobbits ask riddles,
and of much the same sort. And hobbits don’t cheat. Gollum meant
to cheat all the time. He was just trying to put poor Bilbo off his
guard. And I daresay it amused his wickedness to start a game which
might end in providing him with an easy victim, but if he lost would
not hurt him.’
‘Only too true, I fear,’ said Gandalf. ‘But there was something
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 55
else in it, I think, which you don’t see yet. Even Gollum was not
wholly ruined. He had proved tougher than even one of the Wise
would have guessed — as a hobbit might. There was a little corner of
his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as through
a chink in the dark: light out of the past. It was actually pleasant, I
think, to hear a kindly voice again, bringing up memories of wind,
and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.
‘But that, of course, would only make the evil part of him angrier
in the end — unless it could be conquered. Unless it could be cured.’
Gandalf sighed. ‘Alas! there is little hope of that for him. Yet not no
hope. No, not though he possessed the Ring so long, almost as far
back as he can remember. For it was long since he had worn it much:
in the black darkness it was seldom needed. Certainly he had never
“‘faded’’. He is thin and tough still. But the thing was eating up his
mind, of course, and the torment had become almost unbearable.
‘All the “‘great secrets” under the mountains had turned out to
be just empty night: there was nothing more to find out, nothing
worth doing, only nasty furtive eating and resentful remembering.
He was altogether wretched. He hated the dark, and he hated light
more: he hated everything, and the Ring most of all.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Frodo. ‘Surely the Ring was his Precious
and the only thing he cared for? But if he hated it, why didn’t he get
rid of it, or go away and leave it?’
‘You ought to begin to understand, Frodo, after all you have
heard,’ said Gandalf. ‘He hated it and loved it, as he hated and loved
himself. He could not get rid of it. He had no will left in the matter.
‘A Ring of Power looks after itself, Frodo. Jt may slip off treacher-
ously, but its keeper never abandons it. At most he plays with the
idea of handing it on to someone else’s care — and that only at an
early stage, when it first begins to grip. But as far as I know Bilbo
alone in history has ever gone beyond playing, and really done it. He
needed all my help, too. And even so he would never have just
forsaken it, or cast it aside. It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring
itself that decided things. The Ring left him.’
‘What, just in time to meet Bilbo?’ said Frodo. ‘Wouldn’t an Orc
have suited it better?’
‘It is no laughing matter,’ said Gandalf. ‘Not for you. It was the
strangest event in the whole history of the Ring so far: Bilbo’s arrival
just at that time, and putting his hand on it, blindly, in the dark.
“There was more than one power at work, Frodo. The Ring was
trying to get back to its master. It had slipped from Isildur’s hand
and betrayed him; then when a chance came it caught poor Déagol,
and he was murdered; and after that Gollum, and it had devoured
him. It could make no further use of him: he was too small and
56 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
mean; and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his
deep pool again. So now, when its master was awake once more and
sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum.
Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo
from the Shire!
‘Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design
of the Ring-maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo
was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker. In which case you
also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought.’
‘It is not,’ said Frodo. “Though I am not sure that I understand
you. But how have you learned all this about the Ring, and about
Gollum? Do you really know it all, or are you just guessing still?’
Gandalf looked at Frodo, and his eyes glinted. ‘I knew much and
I have learned much,’ he answered. ‘But I am not going to give an
account of all my doings to you. The history of Elendil and Isildur
and the One Ring is known to all the Wise. Your ring is shown to
be that One Ring by the fire-writing alone, apart from any other
evidence.’
‘And when did you discover that?’ asked Frodo, interrupting.
‘Just now in this room, of course,’ answered the wizard sharply.
‘But I expected to find it. I have come back from dark journeys
and long search to make that final test. It is the last proof, and all is
now only too clear. Making out Gollum’s part, and fitting it into the
gap in the history, required some thought. I may have started with
guesses about Gollum, but I am not guessing now. I know. I have
seen him.’
“You have seen Gollum?’ exclaimed Frodo in amazement.
“Yes. The obvious thing to do, of course, if one could. I tried long
ago; but I have managed it at last.’
“Then what happened after Bilbo escaped from him? Do you know
that?’
‘Not so clearly. What I have told you is what Gollum was willing
to tell — though not, of course, in the way I have reported it. Gollum
is a liar, and you have to sift his words. For instance, he called the
Ring his ‘‘birthday-present’’, and he stuck to that. He said it came
from his grandmother, who had lots of beautiful things of that kind.
A ridiculous story. I have no doubt that Sméagol’s grandmother was
a matriarch, a great person in her way, but to talk of her possessing
many Elven-rings was absurd, and as for giving them away, it was a
lie. But a lie with a grain of truth.
“The murder of Déagol haunted Gollum, and he had made up a
defence, repeating it to his “‘Precious’’ over and over again, as he
gnawed bones in the dark, until he almost believed it. It was his
birthday. Déagol ought to have given the ring to him. It had obviously
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 57
turned up just so as to be a present. It was his birthday-present, and
so on, and on.
‘I endured him as long as I could, but the truth was desperately
important, and in the end I had to be harsh. I put the fear of fire on
him, and wrung the true story out of him, bit by bit, together with
much snivelling and snarling. He thought he was misunderstood and
ill-used. But when he had at last told me his history, as far as the
end of the Riddle-game and Bilbo’s escape, he would not say any
more, except in dark hints. Some other fear was on him greater than
mine. He muttered that he was going to get his own back. People
would see if he would stand being kicked, and driven into a hole and
then robbed. Gollum had good friends now, good friends and very
strong. They would help him. Baggins would pay for it. That was
his chief thought. He hated Bilbo and cursed his name. What is more,
he knew where he came from.’
‘But how did he find that out?’ asked Frodo.
‘Well, as for the name, Bilbo very foolishly told Gollum himself}
and after that it would not be difficult to discover his country, once
Gollum came out. Oh yes, he came out. His longing for the Ring
proved stronger than his fear of the Orcs, or even of the light. After
a year or two he left the mountains. You see, though still bound by
desire of it, the Ring was no longer devouring him; he began to revive
a little. He felt old, terribly old, yet less timid, and he was mortally
hungry.
‘Light, light of Sun and Moon, he still feared and hated, and he
always will, I think; but he was cunning. He found he could hide
from daylight and moonshine, and make his way swiftly and softly
by dead of night with his pale cold eyes, and catch small frightened
or unwary things. He grew stronger and bolder with new food and
new air. He found his way into Mirkwood, as one would expect.’
‘Is that where you found him?’ asked Frodo.
‘I saw him there,’ answered Gandalf, ‘but before that he had wan-
dered far, following Bilbo’s trail. It was difficult to learn anything
from him for certain, for his talk was constantly interrupted by curses
and threats. ““What had it got in its pocketses?”’ he said. “It wouldn’t
say, no precious. Little cheat. Not a fair question. It cheated first, it
did. It broke the rules. We ought to have squeezed it, yes precious.
And we will, precious!”
“That is a sample of his talk. I don’t suppose you want any more.
I had weary days of it. But from hints dropped among the snarls
I gathered that his padding feet had taken him at last to Esgaroth,
and even to the streets of Dale, listening secretly and peering. Well,
the news of the great events went far and wide in Wilderland, and
many had heard Bilbo’s name and knew where he came from. We
58 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
had made no secret of our return journey to his home in the West.
Gollum’s sharp ears would soon learn what he wanted.’
“Then why didn’t he track Bilbo further?’ asked Frodo. ‘Why didn’t
he come to the Shire?’
‘Ah,’ said Gandalf, ‘now we come to it. I think Gollum tried to.
He set out and came back westward, as far as the Great River. But
then he turned aside. He was not daunted by the distance, I am sure.
No, something else drew him away. So my friends think, those that
hunted him for me.
“The Wood-elves tracked him first, an easy task for them, for his
trail was still fresh then. Through Mirkwood and back again it led
them, though they never caught him. The wood was full of the
rumour of him, dreadful tales even among beasts and birds. The
Woodmen said that there was some new terror abroad, a ghost that
drank blood. It climbed trees to find nests; it crept into holes to find
the young; it slipped through windows to find cradles.
‘But at the western edge of Mirkwood the trail turned away. It
wandered off southwards and passed out of the Wood-elves’ ken,
and was lost. And then I made a great mistake. Yes, Frodo, and not
the first; though I fear it may prove the worst. I let the matter be. I
let him go; for I had much else to think of at that time, and I still
trusted the lore of Saruman.
‘Well, that was years ago. I have paid for it since with many dark
and dangerous days. The trail was long cold when I took it up again,
after Bilbo left here. And my search would have been in vain, but
for the help that I had from a friend: Aragorn, the greatest traveller
and huntsman of this age of the world. Together we sought for
Gollum down the whole length of Wilderland, without hope, and
without success. But at last, when I had given up the chase and
turned to other paths, Gollum was found. My friend returned out of
great perils bringing the miserable creature with him.
‘What he had been doing he would not say. He only wept and
called us cruel, with many a gollum in his throat; and when we pressed
him he whined and cringed, and rubbed his long hands, licking his
fingers as if they pained him, as if he remembered some old torture.
But I am afraid there is no possible doubt: he had made his slow,
sneaking way, step by step, mile by mile, south, down at last to the
Land of Mordor.’
A heavy silence fell in the room. Frodo could hear his heart beating.
Even outside everything seemed still. No sound of Sam’s shears could
now be heard.
“Yes, to Mordor,’ said Gandalf. ‘Alas! Mordor draws all wicked
things, and the Dark Power was bending all its will to gather them
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 59
there. The Ring of the Enemy would leave its mark, too, leave him
open to the summons. And all folk were whispering then of the new
Shadow in the South, and its hatred of the West. There were his fine
new friends, who would help him in his revenge!
‘Wretched fool! In that land he would learn much, too much for
his comfort. And sooner or later as he lurked and pried on the borders
he would be caught, and taken — for examination. That was the way
of it, I fear. When he was found he had already been there long, and
was on his way back. On some errand of mischief. But that does not
matter much now. His worst mischief was done.
“Yes, alas! through him the Enemy has learned that the One has
been found again. He knows where Isildur fell. He knows where
Gollum found his ring. He knows that it is a Great Ring, for it gave
long life. He knows that it is not one of the Three, for they have
never been lost, and they endure no evil. He knows that it is not one
of the Seven, or the Nine, for they are accounted for. He knows that
it is the One. And he has at last heard, I think, of hobbits and the
Shire.
“The Shire — he may be seeking for it now, if he has not already
found out where it lies. Indeed, Frodo, I fear that he may even think
that the long-unnoticed name of Baggins has become important.’
‘But this is terrible!’ cried Frodo. ‘Far worse than the worst that
I imagined from your hints and warnings. O Gandalf, best of friends,
what am I to do? For now I am really afraid. What am I to do? What
a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!’
‘Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to
strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure
that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end,
because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Frodo. ‘But I am frightened; and I do not feel
any pity for Gollum.’
‘You have not seen him,’ Gandalf broke in.
‘No, and I don’t want to,’ said Frodo. ‘I can’t understand you.
Do you mean to say that you, and the Elves, have let him live on
after all those horrible deeds? Now at any rate he is as bad as an Orc,
and just an enemy. He deserves death.’
‘Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And
some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be
too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise
cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured
before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with
the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play
yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of
Bilbo may rule the fate of many — yours not least. In any case we did
60 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
not kill him: he is very old and very wretched. The Wood-elves have
him in prison, but they treat him with such kindness as they can find
in their wise hearts.’
‘All the same,’ said Frodo, ‘even if Bilbo could not kill Gollum, I
wish he had not kept the Ring. I wish he had never found it, and
that I had not got it! Why did you let me keep it? Why didn’t you
make me throw it away, or, or destroy it?’
‘Let you? Make you?’ said the wizard. ‘Haven’t you been listening
to all that I have said? You are not thinking of what you are saying.
But as for throwing it away, that was obviously wrong. These Rings
have a way of being found. In evil hands it might have done great
evil. Worst of all, it might have fallen into the hands of the Enemy.
Indeed it certainly would; for this is the One, and he is exerting all
his power to find it or draw it to himself.
‘Of course, my dear Frodo, it was dangerous for you; and that has
troubled me deeply. But there was so much at stake that I had to
take some risk — though even when I was far away there has never
been a day when the Shire has not been guarded by watchful eyes.
As long as you never used it, I did not think that the Ring would
have any lasting effect on you, not for evil, not at any rate for a very
long time. And you must remember that nine years ago, when I last
saw you, I still knew little for certain.’
‘But why not destroy it, as you say should have been done long
ago?’ cried Frodo again. ‘If you had warned me, or even sent me a
message, I would have done away with it.’
‘Would you? How would you do that? Have you ever tried?’
‘No. But I suppose one could hammer it or melt it.’
‘Try! said Gandalf. “Try now!’
Frodo drew the Ring out of his pocket again and looked at it. It
now appeared plain and smooth, without mark or device that he
could see. The gold looked very fair and pure, and Frodo thought
how rich and beautiful was its colour, how perfect was its roundness.
It was an admirable thing and altogether precious. When he took it
out he had intended to fling it from him into the very hottest part of
the fire. But he found now that he could not do so, not without a
great struggle. He weighed the Ring in his hand, hesitating, and
forcing himself to remember all that Gandalf had told him; and then
with an effort of will he made a movement, as if to cast it away —
but he found that he had put it back in his pocket.
Gandalf laughed grimly. “You see? Already you too, Frodo, cannot
easily let it go, nor will to damage it. And I could not “‘make’”’ you
— except by force, which would break your mind. But as for breaking
the Ring, force is useless. Even if you took it and struck it with a
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 61
heavy sledge-hammer, it would make no dint in it. It cannot be
unmade by your hands, or by mine.
“Your small fire, of course, would not melt even ordinary gold. This
Ring has already passed through it unscathed, and even unheated. But
there is no smith’s forge in this Shire that could change it at all. Not
even the anvils and furnaces of the Dwarves could do that. It has
been said that dragon-fire could melt and consume the Rings of
Power, but there is not now any dragon left on earth in which the
old fire is hot enough; nor was there ever any dragon, not even
Ancalagon the Black, who could have harmed the One Ring, the
Ruling Ring, for that was made by Sauron himself.
“There is only one way: to find the Cracks of Doom in the depths
of Orodruin, the Fire-mountain, and cast the Ring in there, if you
really wish to destroy it, to put it beyond the grasp of the Enemy for
ever.’
‘I do really wish to destroy it!’ cried Frodo. ‘Or, well, to have it
destroyed. I am not made for perilous quests. I wish I had never seen
the Ring! Why did it come to me? Why was I chosen?’
‘Such questions cannot be answered,’ said Gandalf. “You may be
sure that it was not for any merit that others do not possess: not for
power or wisdom, at any rate. But you have been chosen, and you
must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have.’
‘But I have so little of any of these things! You are wise and
powerful. Will you not take the Ring?’
‘No!’ cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. “With that power I should
have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain
a power still greater and more deadly.’ His eyes flashed and his face
was lit as by a fire within. ‘Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to
become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my
heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do
good. Do not tempt me! I dare not take it, not even to keep it safe,
unused. The wish to wield it would be too great for my strength. I
shall have such need of it. Great perils lie before me.’
He went to the window and drew aside the curtains and the shut-
ters. Sunlight streamed back again into the room. Sam passed along
the path outside whistling. ‘And now,’ said the wizard, turning back
to Frodo, ‘the decision lies with you. But I will always help you.’ He
laid his hand on Frodo’s shoulder. ‘I will help you bear this burden,
as long as it is yours to bear. But we must do something, soon. The
Enemy is moving.’
There was a long silence. Gandalf sat down again and puffed at
his pipe, as if lost in thought. His eyes seemed closed, but under the
lids he was watching Frodo intently. Frodo gazed fixedly at the red
62 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
embers on the hearth, until they filled all his vision, and he seemed
to be looking down into profound wells of fire. He was thinking of
the fabled Cracks of Doom and the terror of the Fiery Mountain.
‘Well!’ said Gandalf at last. ‘What are you thinking about? Have
you decided what to do?’
‘No!’ answered Frodo, coming back to himself out of darkness,
and finding to his surprise that it was not dark, and that out of the
window he could see the sunlit garden. ‘Or perhaps, yes. As far as I
understand what you have said, I suppose I must keep the Ring and
guard it, at least for the present, whatever it may do to me.’
‘Whatever it may do, it will be slow, slow to evil, if you keep it
with that purpose,’ said Gandalf.
‘I hope so,’ said Frodo. ‘But I hope that you may find some other
better keeper soon. But in the meanwhile it seems that I am a danger,
a danger to all that live near me. I cannot keep the Ring and stay
here. I ought to leave Bag End, leave the Shire, leave everything and
go away.’ He sighed.
‘I should like to save the Shire, if I could — though there have been
times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words,
and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be
good for them. But I don’t feel like that now. I feel that as long as
the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering
more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold,
even if my feet cannot stand there again.
‘Of course, I have sometimes thought of going away, but I imag-
ined that as a kind of holiday, a series of adventures like Bilbo’s or
better, ending in peace. But this would mean exile, a flight from
danger into danger, drawing it after me. And I suppose I must go
alone, if I am to do that and save the Shire. But I feel very small,
and very uprooted, and well — desperate. The Enemy is so strong
and terrible.’
He did not tell Gandalf, but as he was speaking a great desire to
follow Bilbo flamed up in his heart — to follow Bilbo, and even perhaps
to find him again. It was so strong that it overcame his fear: he could
almost have run out there and then down the road without his hat,
as Bilbo had done on a similar morning long ago.
‘My dear Frodo!’ exclaimed Gandalf. ‘Hobbits really are amazing
creatures, as I have said before. You can learn all that there is to
know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years
they can still surprise you at a pinch. I hardly expected to get such
an answer, not even from you. But Bilbo made no mistake in choosing
his heir, though he little thought how important it would prove. I
am afraid you are right. The Ring will not be able to stay hidden in
the Shire much longer; and for your own sake, as well as for others,
THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 63
you will have to go, and leave the name of Baggins behind you. That
name will not be safe to have, outside the Shire or in the Wild. I will
give you a travelling name now. When you go, go as Mr. Underhill.
‘But I don’t think you need go alone. Not if you know of anyone
you can trust, and who would be willing to go by your side — and
that you would be willing to take into unknown perils. But if you
look for a companion, be careful in choosing! And be careful of what
you say, even to your closest friends! The enemy has many spies and
many ways of hearing.’
Suddenly he stopped as if listening. Frodo became aware that all
was very quiet, inside and outside. Gandalf crept to one side of the
window. Then with a dart he sprang to the sill, and thrust a long
arm out and downwards. There was a squawk, and up came Sam
Gamgee’s curly head hauled by one ear.
‘Well, well, bless my beard!’ said Gandalf. ‘Sam Gamgee is it?
Now what may you be doing?’
‘Lor bless you, Mr. Gandalf, sir!’ said Sam. ‘Nothing! Leastways
I was just trimming the grass-border under the window, if you follow
me.’ He picked up his shears and exhibited them as evidence.
‘I don’t,’ said Gandalf grimly. ‘It is some time since I last heard
the sound of your shears. How long have you been eavesdropping?’
‘Eavesdropping, sir? I don’t follow you, begging your pardon.
There ain’t no eaves at Bag End, and that’s a fact.’
‘Don’t be a fool! What have you heard, and why did you listen?’
Gandalf’s eyes flashed and his brows stuck out like bristles.
‘Mr. Frodo, sir!’ cried Sam quaking. ‘Don’t let him hurt me, sir!
Don’t let him turn me into anything unnatural! My old dad would
take on so. I meant no harm, on my honour, sir!’
‘He won’t hurt you,’ said Frodo, hardly able to keep from laughing,
although he was himself startled and rather puzzled. ‘He knows, as
well as I do, that you mean no harm. But just you up and answer
his questions straight away!’
‘Well, sir,’ said Sam dithering a little. ‘I heard a deal that I didn’t
rightly understand, about an enemy, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo, sir,
and dragons, and a fiery mountain, and — and Elves, sir. I listened
because I couldn’t help myself, if you know what I mean. Lor bless
me, sir, but I do love tales of that sort. And I believe them too,
whatever Ted may say. Elves, sir! I would dearly love to see them.
Couldn’t you take me to see Elves, sir, when you go?’
Suddenly Gandalf laughed. ‘Come inside!’ he shouted, and putting
out both his arms he lifted the astonished Sam, shears, grass-clippings
and all, right through the window and stood him on the floor. “Take
you to see Elves, eh?’ he said, eyeing Sam closely, but with a smile
flickering on his face. ‘So you heard that Mr. Frodo is going away?’
64 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘I did, sir. And that’s why I choked: which you heard seemingly.
I tried not to, sir, but it burst out of me: I was so upset.’
‘It can’t be helped, Sam,’ said Frodo sadly. He had suddenly
realized that flying from the Shire would mean more painful partings
than merely saying farewell to the familiar comforts of Bag End. ‘I
shall have to go. But’ — and here he looked hard at Sam — ‘if you
really care about me, you will keep that dead secret. See? If you don’t,
if you even breathe a word of what you’ve heard here, then I hope
Gandalf will turn you into a spotted toad and fill the garden full of
grass-snakes.’
Sam fell on his knees, trembling. ‘Get up, Sam!’ said Gandalf. ‘T
have thought of something better than that. Something to shut your
mouth, and punish you properly for listening. You shall go away with
Mr. Frodo!’
‘Me, sir!’ cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk.
‘Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!’ he shouted, and then burst
into tears.
Chapter 3
THREE IS COMPANY
“You ought to go quietly, and you ought to go soon,’ said Gandalf.
Two or three weeks had passed, and still Frodo made no sign of
getting ready to go.
‘I know. But it is difficult to do both,’ he objected. ‘If I just vanish
like Bilbo, the tale will be all over the Shire in no time.’
‘Of course you mustn’t vanish!’ said Gandalf. “That wouldn’t do
at all! I said soon, not instantly. If you can think of any way of slipping
out of the Shire without its being generally known, it will be worth
a little delay. But you must not delay too long.’
‘What about the autumn, on or after Our Birthday?’ asked Frodo.
‘I think I could probably make some arrangements by then.’
To tell the truth, he was very reluctant to start, now that it had
come to the point: Bag End seemed a more desirable residence than
it had for years, and he wanted to savour as much as he could of his
last summer in the Shire. When autumn came, he knew that part at
least of his heart would think more kindly of journeying, as it always
did at that season. He had indeed privately made up his mind to
leave on his fiftieth birthday: Bilbo’s one hundred and twenty-eighth.
It seemed somehow the proper day on which to set out and follow
him. Following Bilbo was uppermost in his mind, and the one thing
that made the thought of leaving bearable. He thought as little as
possible about the Ring, and where it might lead him in the end. But
he did not tell all his thoughts to Gandalf. What the wizard guessed
was always difficult to tell.
He looked at Frodo and smiled. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I think that
will do — but it must not be any later. I am getting very anxious. In
the meanwhile, do take care, and don’t let out any hint of where you
are going! And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I
really shall turn him into a toad.’
‘As for where I am going,’ said Frodo, ‘it would be difficult to give
that away, for I have no clear idea myself, yet.’
‘Don’t be absurd!’ said Gandalf. ‘I am not warning you against
leaving an address at the post-office! But you are leaving the Shire —
and that should not be known, until you are far away. And you must
go, or at least set out, either North, South, West or East — and the
direction should certainly not be known.’
‘I have been so taken up with the thoughts of leaving Bag End, and
of saying farewell, that I have never even considered the direction,’
66 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
said Frodo. ‘For where am I to go? And by what shall I steer? What
is to be my quest? Bilbo went to find a treasure, there and back again;
but I go to lose one, and not return, as far as I can see.’
‘But you cannot see very far,’ said Gandalf. ‘Neither can I. It may
be your task to find the Cracks of Doom; but that quest may be for
others: I do not know. At any rate you are not ready for that long
road yet.’
‘No indeed!’ said Frodo. ‘But in the meantime what course am I
to take?’
“Towards danger; but not too rashly, nor too straight,’ answered
the wizard. ‘If you want my advice, make for Rivendell. That journey
should not prove too perilous, though the Road is less easy than it
was, and it will grow worse as the year fails.’
‘Rivendell!’ said Frodo. ‘Very good: I will go east, and I will make
for Rivendell. I will take Sam to visit the Elves; he will be delighted.’
He spoke lightly; but his heart was moved suddenly with a desire to
see the house of Elrond Halfelven, and breathe the air of that deep
valley where many of the Fair Folk still dwelt in peace.
One summer’s evening an astonishing piece of news reached the
Ivy Bush and Green Dragon. Giants and other portents on the borders
of the Shire were forgotten for more important matters: Mr. Frodo
was selling Bag End, indeed he had already sold it — to the Sackville-
Bagginses!
‘For a nice bit, too,’ said some. ‘At a bargain price,’ said others,
‘and that’s more likely when Mistress Lobelia’s the buyer.’ (Otho
had died some years before, at the ripe but disappointed age of 102.)
Just why Mr. Frodo was selling his beautiful hole was even more
debatable than the price. A few held the theory — supported by the
nods and hints of Mr. Baggins himself — that Frodo’s money was
running out: he was going to leave Hobbiton and live in a quiet way
on the proceeds of the sale down in Buckland among his Brandybuck
relations. ‘As far from the Sackville-Bagginses as may be,’ some
added. But so firmly fixed had the notion of the immeasurable wealth
of the Bagginses of Bag End become that most found this hard to
believe, harder than any other reason or unreason that their fancy
could suggest: to most it suggested a dark and yet unrevealed plot
by Gandalf. Though he kept himself very quiet and did not go about
by day, it was well known that he was ‘hiding up in the Bag End’.
But however a removal might fit in with the designs of his wizardry,
there was no doubt about the fact: Frodo Baggins was going back to
Buckland.
“Yes, I shall be moving this autumn,’ he said. ‘Merry Brandybuck
is looking out for a nice little hole for me, or perhaps a small house.’
THREE IS COMPANY 67
As a matter of fact with Merry’s help he had already chosen
and bought a little house at Crickhollow in the country beyond
Bucklebury. To all but Sam he pretended he was going to settle down
there permanently. The decision to set out eastwards had suggested
the idea to him; for Buckland was on the eastern borders of the Shire,
and as he had lived there in childhood his going back would at least
seem credible.
Gandalf stayed in the Shire for over two months. Then one
evening, at the end of June, soon after Frodo’s plan had been finally
arranged, he suddenly announced that he was going off again next
morning. ‘Only for a short while, I hope,’ he said. ‘But I am going
down beyond the southern borders to get some news, if I can. I have
been idle longer than I should.’
He spoke lightly, but it seemed to Frodo that he looked rather
worried. ‘Has anything happened?’ he asked.
‘Well no; but I have heard something that has made me anxious
and needs looking into. If I think it necessary after all for you to get
off at once, I shall come back immediately, or at least send word. In
the meanwhile stick to your plan; but be more careful than ever,
especially of the Ring. Let me impress on you once more: don’t use
itl?
He went off at dawn. ‘I may be back any day,’ he said. ‘At the
very latest I shall come back for the farewell party. I think after all
you may need my company on the Road.’
At first Frodo was a good deal disturbed, and wondered often
what Gandalf could have heard; but his uneasiness wore off, and in
the fine weather he forgot his troubles for a while. The Shire had
seldom seen so fair a summer, or so rich an autumn: the trees were
laden with apples, honey was dripping in the combs, and the corn
was tall and full.
Autumn was well under way before Frodo began to worry about
Gandalf again. September was passing and there was still no news
of him. The Birthday, and the removal, drew nearer, and still he did
not come, or send word. Bag End began to be busy. Some of Frodo’s
friends came to stay and help him with the packing: there was
Fredegar Bolger and Folco Boffin, and of course his special friends
Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck. Between them they turned the
whole place upside-down.
On September 2oth two covered carts went off laden to Buckland,
conveying the furniture and goods that Frodo had not sold to his
new home, by way of the Brandywine Bridge.The next day Frodo
became really anxious, and kept a constant look-out for Gandalf.
Thursday, his birthday morning, dawned as fair and clear as it had
68 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
long ago for Bilbo’s great party. Still Gandalf did not appear. In the
evening Frodo gave his farewell feast: it was quite small, just a dinner
for himself and his four helpers; but he was troubled and felt in no
mood for it. The thought that he would so soon have to part with
his young friends weighed on his heart. He wondered how he would
break it to them.
The four younger hobbits were, however, in high spirits, and the
party soon became very cheerful in spite of Gandalf’s absence. The
dining-room was bare except for a table and chairs, but the food was
good, and there was good wine: Frodo’s wine had not been included
in the sale to the Sackville-Bagginses.
‘Whatever happens to the rest of my stuff, when the S.-B.s get
their claws on it, at any rate I have found a good home for this!’ said
Frodo, as he drained his glass. It was the last drop of Old Winyards.
When they had sung many songs, and talked of many things
they had done together, they toasted Bilbo’s birthday, and they
drank his health and Frodo’s together according to Frodo’s custom.
Then they went out for a sniff of air, and glimpse of the stars, and
then they went to bed. Frodo’s party was over, and Gandalf had not
come.
The next morning they were busy packing another cart with the
remainder of the luggage. Merry took charge of this, and drove off
with Fatty (that is Fredegar Bolger). ‘Someone must get there and
warm the house before you arrive,’ said Merry. ‘Well, see you later
— the day after tomorrow, if you don’t go to sleep on the way!’
Folco went home after lunch, but Pippin remained behind. Frodo
was restless and anxious, listening in vain for a sound of Gandalf.
He decided to wait until nightfall. After that, if Gandalf wanted him
urgently, he would go to Crickhollow, and might even get there first.
For Frodo was going on foot. His plan — for pleasure and a last look
at the Shire as much as any other reason — was to walk from Hobbiton
to Bucklebury Ferry, taking it fairly easy.
‘I shall get myself a bit into training, too,’ he said, looking at
himself in a dusty mirror in the half-empty hall. He had not done
any strenuous walking for a long time, and the reflection looked
rather flabby, he thought.
After lunch, the Sackville-Bagginses, Lobelia and her sandy-haired
son, Lotho, turned up, much to Frodo’s annoyance. ‘Ours at last!’
said Lobelia, as she stepped inside. It was not polite; nor strictly true,
for the sale of Bag End did not take effect until midnight. But Lobelia
can perhaps be forgiven: she had been obliged to wait about seventy-
seven years longer for Bag End than she once hoped, and she was
now a hundred years old. Anyway, she had come to see that nothing
THREE IS COMPANY 69
she had paid for had been carried off; and she wanted the keys. It
took a long while to satisfy her, as she had brought a complete inven-
tory with her and went right through it. In the end she departed with
Lotho and the spare key and the promise that the other key would
be left at the Gamgees’ in Bagshot Row. She snorted, and showed
plainly that she thought the Gamgees capable of plundering the hole
during the night. Frodo did not offer her any tea.
He took his own tea with Pippin and Sam Gamgee in the kitchen.
It had been officially announced that Sam was coming to Buckland
‘to do for Mr. Frodo and look after his bit of garden’; an arrangement
that was approved by the Gaffer, though it did not console him for
the prospect of having Lobelia as a neighbour.
‘Our last meal at Bag End!’ said Frodo, pushing back his chair.
They left the washing up for Lobelia. Pippin and Sam strapped up
their three packs and piled them in the porch. Pippin went out for
a last stroll in the garden. Sam disappeared.
The sun went down. Bag End seemed sad and gloomy and dishev-
elled. Frodo wandered round the familiar rooms, and saw the light
of the sunset fade on the walls, and shadows creep out of the corners.
It grew slowly dark indoors. He went out and walked down to the
gate at the bottom of the path, and then on a short way down the
Hill Road. He half expected to see Gandalf come striding up through
the dusk.
The sky was clear and the stars were growing bright. ‘It’s going
to be a fine night,’ he said aloud. “That’s good for a beginning. I feel
like walking. I can’t bear any more hanging about. I am going to
start, and Gandalf must follow me.’ He turned to go back, and then
stopped, for he heard voices, just round the corner by the end of
Bagshot Row. One voice was certainly the old Gaffer’s; the other was
strange, and somehow unpleasant. He could not make out what it
said, but he heard the Gaffer’s answers, which were rather shrill. The
old man seemed put out.
‘No, Mr. Baggins has gone away. Went this morning, and my Sam
went with him: anyway all his stuff went. Yes, sold out and gone, I
tell’ee. Why? Why’s none of my business, or yours. Where to? That
ain’t no secret. He’s moved to Bucklebury or some such place, away
down yonder. Yes it is — a tidy way. I’ve never been so far myself}
they’re queer folks in Buckland. No, I can’t give no message. Good
night to you!’
Footsteps went away down the Hill. Frodo wondered vaguely why
the fact that they did not come on up the Hill seemed a great relief.
‘I am sick of questions and curiosity about my doings, I suppose,’
he thought. ‘What an inquisitive lot they all are!’ He had half a mind
7O THE LORD OF THE RINGS
to go and ask the Gaffer who the inquirer was; but he thought better
(or worse) of it, and turned and walked quickly back to Bag End.
Pippin was sitting on his pack in the porch. Sam was not there.
Frodo stepped inside the dark door. ‘Sam!’ he called. ‘Sam! Time!’
‘Coming, sir!’ came the answer from far within, followed soon by
Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the
beer-barrel in the cellar.
‘All aboard, Sam?’ said Frodo.
‘Yes, sir. Pll last for a bit now, sir.’
Frodo shut and locked the round door, and gave the key to Sam.
‘Run down with this to your home, Sam!’ he said. “Then cut along
the Row and meet us as quick as you can at the gate in the lane
beyond the meadows. We are not going through the village tonight.
Too many ears pricking and eyes prying.’ Sam ran off at full speed.
‘Well, now we’re off at last!’ said Frodo. They shouldered their
packs and took up their sticks, and walked round the corner to the
west side of Bag End. ‘Good-bye!’ said Frodo, looking at the dark
blank windows. He waved his hand, and then turned and (following
Bilbo, if he had known it) hurried after Peregrin down the garden-
path. They jumped over the low place in the hedge at the bottom
and took to the fields, passing into the darkness like a rustle in the
grasses.
At the bottom of the Hill on its western side they came to the gate
opening on to a narrow lane. There they halted and adjusted the
straps of their packs. Presently Sam appeared, trotting quickly and
breathing hard; his heavy pack was hoisted high on his shoulders,
and he had put on his head a tall shapeless felt bag, which he called
a hat. In the gloom he looked very much like a dwarf.
‘I am sure you have given me all the heaviest stuff,’ said Frodo.
‘I pity snails, and all that carry their homes on their backs.’
‘I could take a lot more yet, sir. My packet is quite light,’ said
Sam stoutly and untruthfully.
‘No you don’t, Sam!’ said Pippin. ‘It is good for him. He’s got
nothing except what he ordered us to pack. He’s been slack lately,
and he’ll feel the weight less when he’s walked off some of his own.’
‘Be kind to a poor old hobbit!’ laughed Frodo. ‘I shall be as thin
as a willow-wand, I’m sure, before I get to Buckland. But I was
talking nonsense. I suspect you have taken more than your share,
Sam, and I shall look into it at our next packing.’ He picked up his
stick again. ‘Well, we all like walking in the dark,’ he said, ‘so let’s
put some miles behind us before bed.’
For a short way they followed the lane westwards. Then leaving
it they turned left and took quietly to the fields again. They went in
THREE IS COMPANY TI
single file along hedgerows and the borders of coppices, and night
fell dark about them. In their dark cloaks they were as invisible as if
they all had magic rings. Since they were all hobbits, and were trying
to be silent, they made no noise that even hobbits would hear. Even
the wild things in the fields and woods hardly noticed their passing.
After some time they crossed the Water, west of Hobbiton, by a
narrow plank-bridge. The stream was there no more than a winding
black ribbon, bordered with leaning alder-trees. A mile or two further
south they hastily crossed the great road from the Brandywine Bridge;
they were now in the Tookland and bending south-eastwards they
made for the Green Hill Country. As they began to climb its first
slopes they looked back and saw the lamps in Hobbiton far off twink-
ling in the gentle valley of the Water. Soon it disappeared in the folds
of the darkened land, and was followed by Bywater beside its grey
pool. When the light of the last farm was far behind, peeping among
the trees, Frodo turned and waved a hand in farewell.
‘I wonder if I shall ever look down into that valley again,’ he said
quietly.
When they had walked for about three hours they rested. The
night was clear, cool, and starry, but smoke-like wisps of mist were
creeping up the hill-sides from the streams and deep meadows. Thin-
clad birches, swaying in a light wind above their heads, made a black
net against the pale sky. They ate a very frugal supper (for hobbits),
and then went on again. Soon they struck a narrow road, that went
rolling up and down, fading grey into the darkness ahead: the road
to Woodhall, and Stock, and the Bucklebury Ferry. It climbed away
from the main road in the Water-valley, and wound over the skirts
of the Green Hills towards Woody End, a wild corner of the
Eastfarthing.
After a while they plunged into a deeply cloven track between tall
trees that rustled their dry leaves in the night. It was very dark. At
first they talked, or hummed a tune softly together, being now far
away from inquisitive ears. Then they marched on in silence, and
Pippin began to lag behind. At last, as they began to climb a steep
slope, he stopped and yawned.
‘I am so sleepy,’ he said, ‘that soon I shall fall down on the road.
Are you going to sleep on your legs? It is nearly midnight.’
‘I thought you liked walking in the dark,’ said Frodo. ‘But there
is no great hurry. Merry expects us some time the day after tomorrow;
but that leaves us nearly two days more. We’ll halt at the first likely
spot.’
“The wind’s in the West,’ said Sam. ‘If we get to the other side
of this hill, we shall find a spot that is sheltered and snug enough,
sir. There is a dry fir-wood just ahead, if I remember rightly.” Sam
72 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
knew the land well within twenty miles of Hobbiton, but that was
the limit of his geography.
Just over the top of the hill they came on the patch of fir-wood.
Leaving the road they went into the deep resin-scented darkness of
the trees, and gathered dead sticks and cones to make a fire. Soon
they had a merry crackle of flame at the foot of a large fir-tree and
they sat round it for a while, until they began to nod. Then, each in
an angle of the great tree’s roots, they curled up in their cloaks and
blankets, and were soon fast asleep. They set no watch; even Frodo
feared no danger yet, for they were still in the heart of the Shire. A
few creatures came and looked at them when the fire had died away.
A fox passing through the wood on business of his own stopped
several minutes and sniffed.
‘Hobbits!’ he thought. ‘Well, what next? I have heard of strange
doings in this land, but I have seldom heard of a hobbit sleeping out
of doors under a tree. Three of them! There’s something mighty
queer behind this.’ He was quite right, but he never found out any
more about it.
The morning came, pale and clammy. Frodo woke up first, and
found that a tree-root had made a hole in his back, and that his neck
was stiff. ‘Walking for pleasure! Why didn’t I drive?’ he thought, as
he usually did at the beginning of an expedition. ‘And all my beautiful
feather beds are sold to the Sackville-Bagginses! These tree-roots
would do them good.’ He stretched. ‘Wake up, hobbits!’ he cried.
‘It’s a beautiful morning.’
‘What’s beautiful about it?’ said Pippin, peering over the edge of
his blanket with one eye. ‘Sam! Get breakfast ready for half-past nine!
Have you got the bath-water hot?’
Sam jumped up, looking rather bleary. ‘No, sir, I haven’t, sir!’ he
said.
Frodo stripped the blankets from Pippin and rolled him over, and
then walked off to the edge of the wood. Away eastward the sun was
rising red out of the mists that lay thick on the world. Touched with
gold and red the autumn trees seemed to be sailing rootless in a
shadowy sea. A little below him to the left the road ran down steeply
into a hollow and disappeared.
When he returned Sam and Pippin had got a good fire going.
‘Water!’ shouted Pippin. ‘Where’s the water?’
‘I don’t keep water in my pockets,’ said Frodo.
‘We thought you had gone to find some,’ said Pippin, busy setting
out the food, and cups. ‘You had better go now.’
“You can come too,’ said Frodo, ‘and bring all the water-bottles.’
There was a stream at the foot of the hill. They filled their bottles
THREE IS COMPANY 73
and the small camping kettle at a little fall where the water fell a few
feet over an outcrop of grey stone. It was icy cold; and they spluttered
and puffed as they bathed their faces and hands.
When their breakfast was over, and their packs all trussed up again,
it was after ten o’clock, and the day was beginning to turn fine and
hot. They went down the slope, and across the stream where it dived
under the road, and up the next slope, and up and down another
shoulder of the hills; and by that time their cloaks, blankets, water,
food, and other gear already seemed a heavy burden.
The day’s march promised to be warm and tiring work. After some
miles, however, the road ceased to roll up and down: it climbed to
the top of a steep bank in a weary zig-zagging sort of way, and then
prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them they saw the
lower lands dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in
the distance to a brown woodland haze. They were looking across
the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The road wound
away before them like a piece of string.
“The road goes on for ever,’ said Pippin; ‘but I can’t without a
rest. It is high time for lunch.’ He sat down on the bank at the side
of the road and looked away east into the haze, beyond which lay
the River, and the end of the Shire in which he had spent all his life.
Sam stood by him. His round eyes were wide open — for he was
looking across lands he had never seen to a new horizon.
‘Do Elves live in those woods?’ he asked.
‘Not that I ever heard,’ said Pippin. Frodo was silent. He too was
gazing eastward along the road, as if he had never seen it before.
Suddenly he spoke, aloud but as if to himself, saying slowly:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.
“That sounds like a bit of old Bilbo’s rhyming,’ said Pippin. ‘Or
is it one of your imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Frodo. ‘It came to me then, as if I was making
it up; but I may have heard it long ago. Certainly it reminds me very
much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He used often
to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its
74 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. “‘It’s
a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,” he used to
say. ‘““You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there
is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that
this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let
it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to
worse places?” He used to say that on the path outside the front door
at Bag End, especially after he had been out for a long walk.’
‘Well, the Road won’t sweep me anywhere for an hour at least,’
said Pippin, unslinging his pack. The others followed his example,
putting their packs against the bank and their legs out into the road.
After a rest they had a good lunch, and then more rest.
The sun was beginning to get low and the light of afternoon was
on the land as they went down the hill. So far they had not met a
soul on the road. This way was not much used, being hardly fit for
carts, and there was little traffic to the Woody End. They had been
jogging along again for an hour or more when Sam stopped a moment
as if listening. They were now on level ground, and the road after
much winding lay straight ahead through grass-land sprinkled with
tall trees, outliers of the approaching woods.
‘I can hear a pony or a horse coming along the road behind,’ said
Sam.
They looked back, but the turn of the road prevented them from
seeing far. ‘I wonder if that is Gandalf coming after us,’ said Frodo;
but even as he said it, he had a feeling that it was not so, and a
sudden desire to hide from the view of the rider came over him.
‘It may not matter much,’ he said apologetically, ‘but I would
rather not be seen on the road — by anyone. I am sick of my doings
being noticed and discussed. And if it is Gandalf,’ he added as an
afterthought, ‘we can give him a little surprise, to pay him out for
being so late. Let’s get out of sight!’
The other two ran quickly to the left and down into a little hollow
not far from the road. There they lay flat. Frodo hesitated for a
second: curiosity or some other feeling was struggling with his desire
to hide. The sound of hoofs drew nearer. Just in time he threw himself
down in a patch of long grass behind a tree that overshadowed the
road. Then he lifted his head and peered cautiously above one of the
great roots.
Round the corner came a black horse, no hobbit-pony but a full-
sized horse; and on it sat a large man, who seemed to crouch in the
saddle, wrapped in a great black cloak and hood, so that only his
boots in the high stirrups showed below; his face was shadowed and
invisible.
THREE IS COMPANY 75
When it reached the tree and was level with Frodo the horse stopped.
The riding figure sat quite still with its head bowed, as iflistening. From
inside the hood came a noise as of someone sniffing to catch an elusive
scent; the head turned from side to side of the road.
A sudden unreasoning fear of discovery laid hold of Frodo, and
he thought of his Ring. He hardly dared to breathe, and yet the desire
to get it out of his pocket became so strong that he began slowly to
move his hand. He felt that he had only to slip it on, and then he
would be safe. The advice of Gandalf seemed absurd. Bilbo had used
the Ring. ‘And I am still in the Shire,’ he thought, as his hand touched
the chain on which it hung. At that moment the rider sat up, and
shook the reins. The horse stepped forward, walking slowly at first,
and then breaking into a quick trot.
Frodo crawled to the edge of the road and watched the rider, until
he dwindled into the distance. He could not be quite sure, but it
seemed to him that suddenly, before it passed out of sight, the horse
turned aside and went into the trees on the right.
‘Well, I call that very queer, and indeed disturbing,’ said Frodo
to himself, as he walked towards his companions. Pippin and Sam
had remained flat in the grass, and had seen nothing; so Frodo
described the rider and his strange behaviour.
‘I can’t say why, but I felt certain he was looking or smelling for
me; and also I felt certain that I did not want him to discover me.
I’ve never seen or felt anything like it in the Shire before.’
‘But what has one of the Big People got to do with us?’ said Pippin.
‘And what is he doing in this part of the world?’
“There are some Men about,’ said Frodo. ‘Down in the South-
farthing they have had trouble with Big People, I believe. But I have
never heard of anything like this rider. I wonder where he comes
from.’
‘Begging your pardon,’ put in Sam suddenly, ‘I know where he
comes from. It’s from Hobbiton that this here black rider comes,
unless there’s more than one. And I know where he’s going to.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Frodo sharply, looking at him in aston-
ishment. ‘Why didn’t you speak up before?’
‘I have only just remembered, sir. It was like this: when I got back
to our hole yesterday evening with the key, my dad, he says to me:
Hallo, Sam! he says. I thought you were away with Mr. Frodo this
morning. There’s been a strange customer asking for Mr. Baggins of Bag
End, and he’s only just gone. I’ve sent him on to Bucklebury. Not that I
liked the sound of him. He seemed mighty put out, when I told him Mr.
Baggins had left his old home for good. Hissed at me, he did. It gave me
quite a shudder. What sort of a fellow was he? says I to the Gaffer. I
don’t know, says he; but he wasn’t a hobbit. He was tall and black-like,
76 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
and he stooped over me. I reckon it was one of the Big Folk from foreign
parts. He spoke funny.
‘I couldn’t stay to hear more, sir, since you were waiting; and I
didn’t give much heed to it myself. The Gaffer is getting old, and
more than a bit blind, and it must have been near dark when this
fellow come up the Hill and found him taking the air at the end of
our Row. I hope he hasn’t done no harm, sir, nor me.’
“The Gaffer can’t be blamed anyway,’ said Frodo. ‘As a matter of
fact I heard him talking to a stranger, who seemed to be inquiring
for me, and I nearly went and asked him who it was. I wish I had,
or you had told me about it before. I might have been more careful
on the road.’
‘Still, there may be no connexion between this rider and the
Gaffer’s stranger,’ said Pippin. ‘We left Hobbiton secretly enough,
and I don’t see how he could have followed us.’
‘What about the smelling, sir?’ said Sam. ‘And the Gaffer said he
was a black chap.’
‘I wish I had waited for Gandalf,’ Frodo muttered. ‘But perhaps
it would only have made matters worse.’
“Then you know or guess something about this rider?’ said Pippin,
who had caught the muttered words.
‘I don’t know, and I would rather not guess,’ said Frodo.
‘All right, cousin Frodo! You can keep your secret for the present,
if you want to be mysterious. In the meanwhile what are we to do?
I should like a bite and a sup, but somehow I think we had better
move on from here. Your talk of sniffing riders with invisible noses
has unsettled me.’
‘Yes, I think we will move on now,’ said Frodo; ‘but not on the
road — in case that rider comes back, or another follows him. We
ought to do a good step more today. Buckland is still miles away.’
The shadows of the trees were long and thin on the grass, as they
started off again. They now kept a stone’s throw to the left of the
road, and kept out of sight of it as much as they could. But this
hindered them; for the grass was thick and tussocky, and the ground
uneven, and the trees began to draw together into thickets.
The sun had gone down red behind the hills at their backs, and
evening was coming on before they came back to the road at the end
of the long level over which it had run straight for some miles. At
that point it bent left and went down into the lowlands of the Yale
making for Stock; but a lane branched right, winding through a wood
of ancient oak-trees on its way to Woodhall. “That is the way for us,’
said Frodo.
Not far from the road-meeting they came on the huge hulk of a
THREE IS COMPANY qi
tree: it was still alive and had leaves on the small branches that it
had put out round the broken stumps of its long-fallen limbs; but it
was hollow, and could be entered by a great crack on the side away
from the road. The hobbits crept inside, and sat there upon a floor
of old leaves and decayed wood. They rested and had a light meal,
talking quietly and listening from time to time.
Twilight was about them as they crept back to the lane. The West
wind was sighing in the branches. Leaves were whispering. Soon the
road began to fall gently but steadily into the dusk. A star came out
above the trees in the darkening East before them. They went abreast
and in step, to keep up their spirits. After a time, as the stars grew
thicker and brighter, the feeling of disquiet left them, and they no
longer listened for the sound of hoofs. They began to hum softly, as
hobbits have a way of doing as they walk along, especially when
they are drawing near to home at night. With most hobbits it is a
supper-song or a bed-song; but these hobbits hummed a walking-song
(though not, of course, without any mention of supper and bed).
Bilbo Baggins had made the words, to a tune that was as old as
the hills, and taught it to Frodo as they walked in the lanes of the
Water-valley and talked about Adventure.
Upon the hearth the fire 1s red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.
Tree and flower and leaf and grass,
Let them pass! Let them pass!
Hill and water under sky,
Pass them by! Pass them by!
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!
78 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Home 1s behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
Well wander back to home and bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
And then to bed! And then to bed!
The song ended. ‘And now to bed! And now to bed!’ sang Pippin
in a high voice.
‘Hush!’ said Frodo. ‘I think I hear hoofs again.’
They stopped suddenly and stood as silent as tree-shadows, listen-
ing. There was a sound of hoofs in the lane, some way behind, but
coming slow and clear down the wind. Quickly and quietly they
slipped off the path, and ran into the deeper shade under the oak-
trees.
‘Don’t let us go too far!’ said Frodo. ‘I don’t want to be seen, but
I want to see if it is another Black Rider.’
‘Very well!’ said Pippin. ‘But don’t forget the sniffing!’
The hoofs drew nearer. They had no time to find any hiding-place
better than the general darkness under the trees; Sam and Pippin
crouched behind a large tree-bole, while Frodo crept back a few yards
towards the lane. It showed grey and pale, a line of fading light
through the wood. Above it the stars were thick in the dim sky, but
there was no moon.
The sound of hoofs stopped. As Frodo watched he saw something
dark pass across the lighter space between two trees, and then halt.
It looked like the black shade of a horse led by a smaller black shadow.
The black shadow stood close to the point where they had left the
path, and it swayed from side to side. Frodo thought he heard the
sound of snuffling. The shadow bent to the ground, and then began
to crawl towards him.
Once more the desire to slip on the Ring came over Frodo; but
this time it was stronger than before. So strong that, almost before
he realized what he was doing, his hand was groping in his pocket.
But at that moment there came a sound like mingled song and laugh-
ter. Clear voices rose and fell in the starlit air. The black shadow
straightened up and retreated. It climbed on to the shadowy horse
and seemed to vanish across the lane into the darkness on the other
side. Frodo breathed again.
‘Elves!’ exclaimed Sam in a hoarse whisper. ‘Elves, sir!’ He would
THREE IS COMPANY 79
have burst out of the trees and dashed off towards the voices, if they
had not pulled him back.
“Yes, it is Elves,’ said Frodo. ‘One can meet them sometimes in
the Woody End. They don’t live in the Shire, but they wander into
it in spring and autumn, out of their own lands away beyond the
Tower Hills. I am thankful that they do! You did not see, but that
Black Rider stopped just here and was actually crawling towards us
when the song began. As soon as he heard the voices he slipped
away.’
‘What about the Elves?’ said Sam, too excited to trouble about
the rider. ‘Can’t we go and see them?’
‘Listen! They are coming this way,’ said Frodo. ‘We have only to
wait.’
The singing drew nearer. One clear voice rose now above the
others. It was singing in the fair elven-tongue, of which Frodo knew
only a little, and the others knew nothing. Yet the sound blending
with the melody seemed to shape itself in their thought into words
which they only partly understood. This was the song as Frodo heard
it:
Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.
O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!
O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.
The song ended. “These are High Elves! They spoke the name of
Elbereth!’ said Frodo in amazement. ‘Few of that fairest folk are ever
seen in the Shire. Not many now remain in Middle-earth, east of the
Great Sea. This is indeed a strange chance!’
80 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The hobbits sat in shadow by the wayside. Before long the Elves
came down the lane towards the valley. They passed slowly, and the
hobbits could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their
eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the
light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed
to fall about their feet. They were now silent, and as the last Elf
passed he turned and looked towards the hobbits and laughed.
‘Hail, Frodo!’ he cried. ‘You are abroad late. Or are you perhaps
lost?’ Then he called aloud to the others, and all the company stopped
and gathered round.
“This is indeed wonderful!’ they said. “Three hobbits in a wood at
night! We have not seen such a thing since Bilbo went away. What
is the meaning of it?’
‘The meaning of it, fair people,’ said Frodo, ‘is simply that we
seem to be going the same way as you are. I like walking under the
stars. But I would welcome your company.’
‘But we have no need of other company, and hobbits are so dull,’
they laughed. ‘And how do you know that we go the same way as
you, for you do not know whither we are going?’
‘And how do you know my name?’ asked Frodo in return.
‘We know many things,’ they said. ‘We have seen you often before
with Bilbo, though you may not have seen us.’
‘Who are you, and who is your lord?’ asked Frodo.
‘I am Gildor,’ answered their leader, the Elf who had first hailed
him. ‘Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod. We are Exiles, and
most of our kindred have long ago departed and we too are now only
tarrying here a while, ere we return over the Great Sea. But some of
our kinsfolk dwell still in peace in Rivendell. Come now, Frodo, tell
us what you are doing? For we see that there is some shadow of fear
upon you.’
‘O Wise People!’ interrupted Pippin eagerly. “Tell us about the
Black Riders!’
‘Black Riders?’ they said in low voices. ‘Why do you ask about
Black Riders?’
‘Because two Black Riders have overtaken us today, or one has
done so twice,’ said Pippin; ‘only a little while ago he slipped away
as you drew near.’
The Elves did not answer at once, but spoke together softly in
their own tongue. At length Gildor turned to the hobbits. ‘We will
not speak of this here,’ he said. ‘We think you had best come now
with us. It is not our custom, but for this time we will take you on
our road, and you shall lodge with us tonight, if you will.’
‘O Fair Folk! This is good fortune beyond my hope,’ said Pippin.
Sam was speechless. ‘I thank you indeed, Gildor Inglorion,’ said
THREE IS COMPANY 81
Frodo bowing. ‘Elen sila limenn’ omentielvo, a star shines on the hour
of our meeting,’ he added in the High-elven speech.
‘Be careful, friends!’ cried Gildor laughing. ‘Speak no secrets! Here
is a scholar in the Ancient Tongue. Bilbo was a good master. Hail,
Elf-friend!’ he said, bowing to Frodo. ‘Come now with your friends
and join our company! You had best walk in the middle so that you
may not stray. You may be weary before we halt.’
‘Why? Where are you going?’ asked Frodo.
‘For tonight we go to the woods on the hills above Woodhall. It
is some miles, but you shall have rest at the end of it, and it will
shorten your journey tomorrow.’
They now marched on again in silence, and passed like shadows
and faint lights: for Elves (even more than hobbits) could walk when
they wished without sound or footfall. Pippin soon began to feel
sleepy, and staggered once or twice; but each time a tall Elf at his
side put out his arm and saved him from a fall. Sam walked along
at Frodo’s side, as if in a dream, with an expression on his face half
of fear and half of astonished joy.
The woods on either side became denser; the trees were now
younger and thicker; and as the lane went lower, running down into a
fold of the hills, there were many deep brakes of hazel on the rising
slopes at either hand. At last the Elves turned aside from the path. A
green ride lay almost unseen through the thickets on the right; and this
they followed as it wound away back up the wooded slopes on to the
top of a shoulder of the hills that stood out into the lower land of the
river-valley. Suddenly they came out of the shadow of the trees, and
before them lay a wide space of grass, grey under the night. On three
sides the woods pressed upon it; but eastward the ground fell steeply
and the tops of the dark trees, growing at the bottom of the slope, were
below their feet. Beyond, the low lands lay dim and flat under the stars.
Nearer at hand a few lights twinkled in the village of Woodhall.
The Elves sat on the grass and spoke together in soft voices; they
seemed to take no further notice of the hobbits. Frodo and his com-
panions wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets, and drowsiness
stole over them. The night grew on, and the lights in the valley went
out. Pippin fell asleep, pillowed on a green hillock.
Away high in the East swung Remmirath, the Netted Stars, and
slowly above the mists red Borgil rose, glowing like a jewel of fire.
Then by some shift of airs all the mist was drawn away like a veil,
and there leaned up, as he climbed over the rim of the world, the
Swordsman of the Sky, Menelvagor with his shining belt. The Elves
all burst into song. Suddenly under the trees a fire sprang up with a
red light.
82 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Come!’ the Elves called to the hobbits. ‘Come! Now is the time
for speech and merriment!’
Pippin sat up and rubbed his eyes. He shivered. “There is a fire in
the hall, and food for hungry guests,’ said an Elf standing before him.
At the south end of the greensward there was an opening. There
the green floor ran on into the wood, and formed a wide space like
a hall, roofed by the boughs of trees. Their great trunks ran like
pillars down each side. In the middle there was a wood-fire blazing,
and upon the tree-pillars torches with lights of gold and silver were
burning steadily. The Elves sat round the fire upon the grass or upon
the sawn rings of old trunks. Some went to and fro bearing cups and
pouring drink; others brought food on heaped plates and dishes.
“This is poor fare,’ they said to the hobbits; ‘for we are lodging in
the greenwood far from our halls. If ever you are our guests at home,
we will treat you better.’
‘It seems to me good enough for a birthday-party,’ said Frodo.
Pippin afterwards recalled little of either food or drink, for his
mind was filled with the light upon the elf-faces, and the sound of
voices so various and so beautiful that he felt in a waking dream. But
he remembered that there was bread, surpassing the savour of a fair
white loaf to one who is starving; and fruits sweet as wildberries and
richer than the tended fruits of gardens; he drained a cup that was
filled with a fragrant draught, cool as a clear fountain, golden as a
summer afternoon.
Sam could never describe in words, nor picture clearly to himself,
what he felt or thought that night, though it remained in his memory
as one of the chief events of his life. The nearest he ever got was to
say: ‘Well, sir, if I could grow apples like that, I would call myself a
gardener. But it was the singing that went to my heart, if you know
what I mean.’
Frodo sat, eating, drinking, and talking with delight; but his mind
was chiefly on the words spoken. He knew a little of the elf-speech
and listened eagerly. Now and again he spoke to those that served
him and thanked them in their own language. They smiled at him
and said laughing: ‘Here is a jewel among hobbits!’
After a while Pippin fell fast asleep, and was lifted up and borne
away to a bower under the trees; there he was laid upon a soft bed
and slept the rest of the night away. Sam refused to leave his master.
When Pippin had gone, he came and sat curled up at Frodo’s feet,
where at last he nodded and closed his eyes. Frodo remained long
awake, talking with Gildor.
They spoke of many things, old and new, and Frodo questioned
Gildor much about happenings in the wide world outside the Shire.
THREE IS COMPANY 83
The tidings were mostly sad and ominous: of gathering darkness, the
wars of Men, and the flight of the Elves. At last Frodo asked the
question that was nearest to his heart:
‘Tell me, Gildor, have you ever seen Bilbo since he left us?’
Gildor smiled. ‘Yes,’ he answered. “Twice. He said farewell to us
on this very spot. But I saw him once again, far from here.’ He would
say no more about Bilbo, and Frodo fell silent.
“You do not ask me or tell me much that concerns yourself, Frodo,’
said Gildor. ‘But I already know a little, and I can read more in your
face and in the thought behind your questions. You are leaving the
Shire, and yet you doubt that you will find what you seek, or accom-
plish what you intend, or that you will ever return. Is not that so?’
‘It is,’ said Frodo; ‘but I thought my going was a secret known
only to Gandalf and my faithful Sam.’ He looked down at Sam, who
was snoring gently.
‘The secret will not reach the Enemy from us,’ said Gildor.
“The Enemy?’ said Frodo. “Then you know why I am leaving the
Shire?’
‘I do not know for what reason the Enemy is pursuing you,’
answered Gildor; ‘but I perceive that he is — strange indeed though
that seems to me. And I warn you that peril is now both before you
and behind you, and upon either side.’
“You mean the Riders? I feared that they were servants of the
Enemy. What are the Black Riders?’
‘Has Gandalf told you nothing?’
‘Nothing about such creatures.’
“Then I think it is not for me to say more — lest terror should keep
you from your journey. For it seems to me that you have set out only
just in time, if indeed you are in time. You must now make haste, and
neither stay nor turn back; for the Shire is no longer any protection to
you.’
‘I cannot imagine what information could be more terrifying than
your hints and warnings,’ exclaimed Frodo. ‘I knew that danger lay
ahead, of course; but I did not expect to meet it in our own Shire.
Can’t a hobbit walk from the Water to the River in peace?’
‘But it is not your own Shire,’ said Gildor. ‘Others dwelt here
before hobbits were; and others will dwell here again when hobbits are
no more. The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in,
but you cannot for ever fence it out.’
‘I know - and yet it has always seemed so safe and familiar. What
can I do now? My plan was to leave the Shire secretly, and make my
way to Rivendell; but now my footsteps are dogged, before ever I get
to Buckland.’
‘I think you should still follow that plan,’ said Gildor. ‘I do not
84 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
think the Road will prove too hard for your courage. But if you desire
clearer counsel, you should ask Gandalf. I do not know the reason
for your flight, and therefore I do not know by what means your
pursuers will assail you. These things Gandalf must know. I suppose
that you will see him before you leave the Shire?’
‘I hope so. But that is another thing that makes me anxious. I
have been expecting Gandalf for many days. He was to have come
to Hobbiton at the latest two nights ago; but he has never appeared.
Now I am wondering what can have happened. Should I wait for
him?’
Gildor was silent for a moment. ‘I do not like this news,’ he said
at last. “That Gandalf should be late, does not bode well. But it is
said: Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and
quick to anger. The choice is yours: to go or wait.’
‘And it is also said,’ answered Frodo: ‘Go not to the Elves for counsel,
for they will say both no and yes.’
‘Is it indeed?’ laughed Gildor. ‘Elves seldom give unguarded
advice, for advice is a dangerous gift, even from the wise to the wise,
and all courses may run ill. But what would you? You have not told
me all concerning yourself; and how then shall I choose better than
your But if you demand advice, I will for friendship’s sake give it. I
think you should now go at once, without delay; and if Gandalf does
not come before you set out, then I also advise this: do not go alone.
Take such friends as are trusty and willing. Now you should be
grateful, for I do not give this counsel gladly. The Elves have their
own labours and their own sorrows, and they are little concerned
with the ways of hobbits, or of any other creatures upon earth. Our
paths cross theirs seldom, by chance or purpose. In this meeting there
may be more than chance; but the purpose is not clear to me, and I
fear to say too much.’
‘I am deeply grateful,’ said Frodo; ‘but I wish you would tell me
plainly what the Black Riders are. If I take your advice I may not see
Gandalf for a long while, and I ought to know what is the danger
that pursues me.’
‘Is it not enough to know that they are servants of the Enemy?’
answered Gildor. ‘Flee them! Speak no words to them! They are
deadly. Ask no more of me! But my heart forbodes that, ere all is
ended, you, Frodo son of Drogo, will know more of these fell things
than Gildor Inglorion. May Elbereth protect you!’
‘But where shall I find courage?’ asked Frodo. ‘That is what I
chiefly need.’
‘Courage is found in unlikely places,’ said Gildor. ‘Be of good
hope! Sleep now! In the morning we shall have gone; but we will
send our messages through the lands. The Wandering Companies
THREE IS COMPANY 85
shall know of your journey, and those that have power for good shall
be on the watch. I name you Elf-friend; and may the stars shine upon
the end of your road! Seldom have we had such delight in strangers,
and it is fair to hear words of the Ancient Speech from the lips of
other wanderers in the world.’
Frodo felt sleep coming upon him, even as Gildor finished speak-
ing. ‘I will sleep now,’ he said; and the Elf led him to a bower beside
Pippin, and he threw himself upon a bed and fell at once into a
dreamless slumber.
Chapter 4
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS
In the morning Frodo woke refreshed. He was lying in a bower made
by a living tree with branches laced and drooping to the ground; his
bed was of fern and grass, deep and soft and strangely fragrant. The
sun was shining through the fluttering leaves, which were still green
upon the tree. He jumped up and went out.
Sam was sitting on the grass near the edge of the wood. Pippin
was standing studying the sky and weather. There was no sign of the
Elves.
“They have left us fruit and drink, and bread,’ said Pippin. ‘Come
and have your breakfast. The bread tastes almost as good as it did
last night. I did not want to leave you any, but Sam insisted.’
Frodo sat down beside Sam and began to eat. ‘What is the plan
for today?’ asked Pippin.
“To walk to Bucklebury as quickly as possible,’ answered Frodo,
and gave his attention to the food.
‘Do you think we shall see anything of those Riders?’ asked Pippin
cheerfully. Under the morning sun the prospect of seeing a whole
troop of them did not seem very alarming to him.
“Yes, probably,’ said Frodo, not liking the reminder. ‘But I hope
to get across the river without their seeing us.’
‘Did you find out anything about them from Gildor?’
‘Not much — only hints and riddles,’ said Frodo evasively.
‘Did you ask about the sniffing?’
‘We didn’t discuss it,’ said Frodo with his mouth full.
“You should have. I am sure it is very important.’
‘In that case Iam sure Gildor would have refused to explain it,’ said
Frodo sharply. ‘And now leave me in peace for a bit! I don’t want to
answer a string of questions while I am eating. I want to think!’
‘Good heavens!’ said Pippin. ‘At breakfast?? He walked away
towards the edge of the green.
From Frodo’s mind the bright morning — treacherously bright, he
thought — had not banished the fear of pursuit; and he pondered the
words of Gildor. The merry voice of Pippin came to him. He was
running on the green turf and singing.
‘No! I could not!’ he said to himself. ‘It is one thing to take my
young friends walking over the Shire with me, until we are hungry
and weary, and food and bed are sweet. To take them into exile,
where hunger and weariness may have no cure, is quite another —
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS 87
even if they are willing to come. The inheritance is mine alone. I
don’t think I ought even to take Sam.’ He looked at Sam Gamgee,
and discovered that Sam was watching him.
‘Well, Sam!’ he said. ‘What about it? I am leaving the Shire as
soon as ever I can — in fact I have made up my mind now not even
to wait a day at Crickhollow, if it can be helped.’
‘Very good, sir!’
“You still mean to come with me?’
‘I do.’
‘It is going to be very dangerous, Sam. It is already dangerous.
Most likely neither of us will come back.’
‘If you don’t come back, sir, then I shan’t, that’s certain,’ said
Sam. ‘Don’t you leave him! they said to me. Leave him! I said. I never
mean to. I am going with him, tf he climbs to the Moon; and if any of
those Black Riders try to stop him, they'll have Sam Gamgee to reckon
with, I said. They laughed.’
‘Who are they, and what are you talking about?’
“The Elves, sir. We had some talk last night; and they seemed to
know you were going away, so I didn’t see the use of denying it.
Wonderful folk, Elves, sir! Wonderful!’
“They are,’ said Frodo. ‘Do you like them still, now you have had
a closer view?’
“They seem a bit above my likes and dislikes, so to speak,’ answered
Sam slowly. ‘It don’t seem to matter what I think about them. They
are quite different from what I expected — so old and young, and so
gay and sad, as it were.’
Frodo looked at Sam rather startled, half expecting to see some
outward sign of the odd change that seemed to have come over him.
It did not sound like the voice of the old Sam Gamgee that he thought
he knew. But it looked like the old Sam Gamgee sitting there, except
that his face was unusually thoughtful.
‘Do you feel any need to leave the Shire now — now that your wish
to see them has come true already?’ he asked.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know how to say it, but after last night I feel
different. I seem to see ahead, in a kind of way. I know we are going
to take a very long road, into darkness; but I know I can’t turn back.
It isn’t to see Elves now, nor dragons, nor mountains, that I want —
I don’t rightly know what I want: but I have something to do before
the end, and it lies ahead, not in the Shire. I must see it through,
sir, if you understand me.’
‘I don’t altogether. But I understand that Gandalf chose me a
good companion. I am content. We will go together.’
Frodo finished his breakfast in silence. Then standing up he looked
over the land ahead, and called to Pippin.
88 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘All ready to start?’ he said as Pippin ran up. ‘We must be getting
off at once. We slept late; and there are a good many miles to go.’
‘You slept late, you mean,’ said Pippin. ‘I was up long before; and
we are only waiting for you to finish eating and thinking.’
‘I have finished both now. And I am going to make for Bucklebury
Ferry as quickly as possible. I am not going out of the way, back to
the road we left last night: I am going to cut straight across country
from here.’
‘Then you are going to fly,’ said Pippin. ‘You won’t cut straight
on foot anywhere in this country.’
‘We can cut straighter than the road anyway,’ answered Frodo.
“The Ferry is east from Woodhall; but the hard road curves away to
the left — you can see a bend of it away north over there. It goes
round the north end of the Marish so as to strike the causeway from
the Bridge above Stock. But that is miles out of the way. We could
save a quarter of the distance if we made a line for the Ferry from
where we stand.’
‘Short cuts make long delays,’ argued Pippin. “The country is rough
round here, and there are bogs and all kinds of difficulties down in
the Marish — I know the land in these parts. And if you are worrying
about Black Riders, I can’t see that it is any worse meeting them on
a road than in a wood or a field.’
‘It is less easy to find people in the woods and fields,’ answered
Frodo. ‘And if you are supposed to be on the road, there is some
chance that you will be looked for on the road and not off it.’
‘All right!’ said Pippin. ‘TI will follow you into every bog and ditch.
But it is hard! I had counted on passing the Golden Perch at Stock
before sundown. The best beer in the Eastfarthing, or used to be: it
is a long time since I tasted it.’
“That settles it!’ said Frodo. ‘Short cuts make delays, but inns
make longer ones. At all costs we must keep you away from the
Golden Perch. We want to get to Bucklebury before dark. What do
you say, Sam?’
‘I will go along with you, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam (in spite of private
misgivings and a deep regret for the best beer in the Eastfarthing).
“Then if we are going to toil through bog and briar, let’s go now!’
said Pippin.
It was already nearly as hot as it had been the day before; but
clouds were beginning to come up from the West. It looked likely to
turn to rain. The hobbits scrambled down a steep green bank and
plunged into the thick trees below. Their course had been chosen to
leave Woodhall to their left, and to cut slanting through the woods
that clustered along the eastern side of the hills, until they reached
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS 89
the flats beyond. Then they could make straight for the Ferry over
country that was open, except for a few ditches and fences. Frodo
reckoned they had eighteen miles to go in a straight line.
He soon found that the thicket was closer and more tangled than
it had appeared. There were no paths in the undergrowth, and they
did not get on very fast. When they had struggled to the bottom of
the bank, they found a stream running down from the hills behind
in a deeply dug bed with steep slippery sides overhung with brambles.
Most inconveniently it cut across the line they had chosen. They
could not jump over it, nor indeed get across it at all without getting
wet, scratched, and muddy. They halted, wondering what to do.
‘First check!’ said Pippin, smiling grimly.
Sam Gamgee looked back. Through an opening in the trees he
caught a glimpse of the top of the green bank from which they had
climbed down.
‘Look!’ he said, clutching Frodo by the arm. They all looked, and
on the edge high above them they saw against the sky a horse standing.
Beside it stooped a black figure.
They at once gave up any idea of going back. Frodo led the way,
and plunged quickly into the thick bushes beside the stream. ‘Whew!’
he said to Pippin. ‘We were both right! The short cut has gone
crooked already; but we got under cover only just in time. You’ve
got sharp ears, Sam: can you hear anything coming?’
They stood still, almost holding their breath as they listened; but
there was no sound of pursuit. ‘I don’t fancy he would try bringing
his horse down that bank,’ said Sam. ‘But I guess he knows we came
down it. We had better be going on.’
Going on was not altogether easy. They had packs to carry, and
the bushes and brambles were reluctant to let them through. They
were cut off from the wind by the ridge behind, and the air was still
and stuffy. When they forced their way at last into more open ground,
they were hot and tired and very scratched, and they were also no
longer certain of the direction in which they were going. The banks
of the stream sank, as it reached the levels and became broader and
shallower, wandering off towards the Marish and the River.
‘Why, this is the Stock-brook!’ said Pippin. ‘If we are going to try
and get back on to our course, we must cross at once and bear right.’
They waded the stream, and hurried over a wide open space,
rush-grown and treeless, on the further side. Beyond that they came
again to a belt of trees: tall oaks, for the most part, with here and
there an elm tree or an ash. The ground was fairly level, and there
was little undergrowth; but the trees were too close for them to see
far ahead. The leaves blew upwards in sudden gusts of wind, and
spots of rain began to fall from the overcast sky. Then the wind died
90 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
away and the rain came streaming down. They trudged along as fast
as they could, over patches of grass, and through thick drifts of old
leaves; and all about them the rain pattered and trickled. They did
not talk, but kept glancing back, and from side to side.
After half an hour Pippin said: ‘I hope we have not turned too
much towards the south, and are not walking longwise through this
wood! It is not a very broad belt — I should have said no more than
a mile at the widest — and we ought to have been through it by now.’
‘It is no good our starting to go in zig-zags,’ said Frodo. “That
won’t mend matters. Let us keep on as we are going! I am not sure
that I want to come out into the open yet.’
They went on for perhaps another couple of miles. Then the sun
gleamed out of ragged clouds again and the rain lessened. It was now
past mid-day, and they felt it was high time for lunch. They halted
under an elm tree: its leaves though fast turning yellow were still
thick, and the ground at its feet was fairly dry and sheltered. When
they came to make their meal, they found that the Elves had filled
their bottles with a clear drink, pale golden in colour: it had the scent
of a honey made of many flowers, and was wonderfully refreshing.
Very soon they were laughing, and snapping their fingers at rain, and
at Black Riders. The last few miles, they felt, would soon be behind
them.
Frodo propped his back against the tree-trunk, and closed his eyes.
Sam and Pippin sat near, and they began to hum, and then to sing
softly:
Ho! Ho! Ho! to the bottle I go
To heal my heart and drown my woe.
Rain may fall and wind may blow,
And many miles be still to go,
But under a tall tree I will lie,
And let the clouds go sailing by.
Ho! Ho! Ho! they began again louder. They stopped short suddenly.
Frodo sprang to his feet. A long-drawn wail came down the wind,
like the cry of some evil and lonely creature. It rose and fell, and
ended on a high piercing note. Even as they sat and stood, as if
suddenly frozen, it was answered by another cry, fainter and further
off, but no less chilling to the blood. There was then a silence, broken
only by the sound of the wind in the leaves.
‘And what do you think that was?’ Pippin asked at last, trying to
speak lightly, but quavering a little. ‘If it was a bird, it was one that
I never heard in the Shire before.’
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS OI
‘It was not bird or beast,’ said Frodo. ‘It was a call, or a signal —
there were words in that cry, though I could not catch them. But no
hobbit has such a voice.’
No more was said about it. They were all thinking of the Riders,
but no one spoke of them. They were now reluctant either to stay
or go on; but sooner or later they had got to get across the open
country to the Ferry, and it was best to go sooner and in daylight.
In a few moments they had shouldered their packs again and were
off.
Before long the wood came to a sudden end. Wide grass-lands
stretched before them. They now saw that they had, in fact, turned
too much to the south. Away over the flats they could glimpse the
low hill of Bucklebury across the River, but it was now to their left.
Creeping cautiously out from the edge of the trees, they set off across
the open as quickly as they could.
At first they felt afraid, away from the shelter of the wood. Far
back behind them stood the high place where they had breakfasted.
Frodo half expected to see the small distant figure of a horseman on
the ridge dark against the sky; but there was no sign of one. The sun
escaping from the breaking clouds, as it sank towards the hills they
had left, was now shining brightly again. Their fear left them, though
they still felt uneasy. But the land became steadily more tame and
well-ordered. Soon they came into well-tended fields and meadows:
there were hedges and gates and dikes for drainage. Everything
seemed quiet and peaceful, just an ordinary corner of the Shire. Their
spirits rose with every step. The line of the River grew nearer; and
the Black Riders began to seem like phantoms of the woods now left
far behind.
They passed along the edge of a huge turnip-field, and came to a
stout gate. Beyond it a rutted lane ran between low well-laid hedges
towards a distant clump of trees. Pippin stopped.
‘I know these fields and this gate!’ he said. “This is Bamfurlong,
old Farmer Maggot’s land. That’s his farm away there in the trees.’
‘One trouble after another!’ said Frodo, looking nearly as much
alarmed as if Pippin had declared the lane was the slot leading to a
dragon’s den. The others looked at him in surprise.
‘What’s wrong with old Maggot?’ asked Pippin. ‘He’s a good friend
to all the Brandybucks. Of course he’s a terror to trespassers, and
keeps ferocious dogs — but after all, folk down here are near the
border and have to be more on their guard.’
‘I know,’ said Frodo. ‘But all the same,’ he added with a shame-
faced laugh, ‘I am terrified of him and his dogs. I have avoided his
farm for years and years. He caught me several times trespassing after
92 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
mushrooms, when I was a youngster at Brandy Hall. On the last
occasion he beat me, and then took me and showed me to his dogs.
“See, lads,” he said, “next time this young varmint sets foot on my
land, you can eat him. Now see him off!’’ They chased me all the
way to the Ferry. I have never got over the fright — though I daresay
the beasts knew their business and would not really have touched
me.’
Pippin laughed. ‘Well, it’s time you made it up. Especially if you
are coming back to live in Buckland. Old Maggot is really a stout
fellow — if you leave his mushrooms alone. Let’s get into the lane
and then we shan’t be trespassing. If we meet him, I'll do the talking.
He is a friend of Merry’s, and I used to come here with him a good
deal at one time.’
They went along the lane, until they saw the thatched roofs of a
large house and farm-buildings peeping out among the trees ahead.
The Maggots, and the Puddifoots of Stock, and most of the inhabi-
tants of the Marish, were house-dwellers; and this farm was stoutly
built of brick and had a high wall all round it. There was a wide
wooden gate opening out of the wall into the lane.
Suddenly as they drew nearer a terrific baying and barking broke
out, and a loud voice was heard shouting: ‘Grip! Fang! Wolf! Come
on, lads!’
Frodo and Sam stopped dead, but Pippin walked on a few paces.
The gate opened and three huge dogs came pelting out into the lane,
and dashed towards the travellers, barking fiercely. They took no
notice of Pippin; but Sam shrank against the wall, while two wolvish-
looking dogs sniffed at him suspiciously, and snarled if he moved.
The largest and most ferocious of the three halted in front of Frodo,
bristling and growling.
Through the gate there now appeared a broad thick-set hobbit
with a round red face. ‘Hallo! Hallo! And who may you be, and what
may you be wanting?’ he asked.
‘Good afternoon, Mr. Maggot!’ said Pippin.
The farmer looked at him closely. ‘Well, if it isn’t Master Pippin
— Mr. Peregrin Took, I should say!’ he cried, changing from a scowl
to a grin. ‘It’s a long time since I saw you round here. It’s lucky for
you that I know you. I was just going out to set my dogs on any
strangers. There are some funny things going on today. Of course,
we do get queer folk wandering in these parts at times. Too near
the River,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But this fellow was the most
outlandish I have ever set eyes on. He won’t cross my land without
leave a second time, not if I can stop it.’
‘What fellow do you mean?’ asked Pippin.
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS 93
“Then you haven’t seen him?’ said the farmer. ‘He went up the
lane towards the causeway not a long while back. He was a funny
customer and asking funny questions. But perhaps you’ll come along
inside, and we’ll pass the news more comfortable. I’ve a drop of good
ale on tap, if you and your friends are willing, Mr. Took.’
It seemed plain that the farmer would tell them more, if allowed
to do it in his own time and fashion, so they all accepted the invitation.
‘What about the dogs?’ asked Frodo anxiously.
The farmer laughed. “They won’t harm you — not unless I tell em
to. Here, Grip! Fang! Heel!’ he cried. ‘Heel, Wolf!’ To the relief of
Frodo and Sam, the dogs walked away and let them go free.
Pippin introduced the other two to the farmer. ‘Mr. Frodo Baggins,’
he said. ‘You may not remember him, but he used to live at Brandy
Hall.’ At the name Baggins the farmer started, and gave Frodo a
sharp glance. For a moment Frodo thought that the memory of stolen
mushrooms had been aroused, and that the dogs would be told to
see him off. But Farmer Maggot took him by the arm.
‘Well, if that isn’t queerer than ever!’ he exclaimed. ‘Mr. Baggins
is it? Come inside! We must have a talk.’
They went into the farmer’s kitchen, and sat by the wide fire-place.
Mrs. Maggot brought out beer in a huge jug, and filled four large
mugs. It was a good brew, and Pippin found himself more than
compensated for missing the Golden Perch. Sam sipped his beer sus-
piciously. He had a natural mistrust of the inhabitants of other parts
of the Shire; and also he was not disposed to be quick friends with
anyone who had beaten his master, however long ago.
After a few remarks about the weather and the agricultural pros-
pects (which were no worse than usual), Farmer Maggot put down
his mug and looked at them all in turn.
‘Now, Mr. Peregrin,’ he said, ‘where might you be coming from,
and where might you be going to? Were you coming to visit me? For,
if so, you had gone past my gate without my seeing you.’
‘Well, no,’ answered Pippin. “To tell you the truth, since you have
guessed it, we got into the lane from the other end: we had come
over your fields. But that was quite by accident. We lost our way in
the woods, back near Woodhall, trying to take a short cut to the
Ferry.’
‘If you were in a hurry, the road would have served you better,’
said the farmer. ‘But I wasn’t worrying about that. You have leave
to walk over my land, if you have a mind, Mr. Peregrin. And you,
Mr. Baggins — though I daresay you still like mushrooms.’ He laughed.
‘Ah yes, I recognized the name. I recollect the time when young
Frodo Baggins was one of the worst young rascals of Buckland. But
it wasn’t mushrooms I was thinking of. I had just heard the name
94 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Baggins before you turned up. What do you think that funny customer
asked me?’
They waited anxiously for him to go on. ‘Well,’ the farmer con-
tinued, approaching his point with slow relish, ‘he came riding on a
big black horse in at the gate, which happened to be open, and right
up to my door. All black he was himself, too, and cloaked and hooded
up, as if he did not want to be known. ‘‘Now what in the Shire can
he want?” I thought to myself. We don’t see many of the Big Folk
over the border; and anyway I had never heard of any like this black
fellow.
“**Good-day to you!’ I says, going out to him. ‘This lane don’t
lead anywhere, and wherever you may be going, your quickest way
will be back to the road.” I didn’t like the looks of him; and when
Grip came out, he took one sniff and let out a yelp as if he had been
stung: he put down his tail and bolted off howling. The black fellow
sat quite still.
“*T come from yonder,” he said, slow and stiff-like, pointing back
west, over my fields, if you please. “Have you seen Baggins?’ he
asked in a queer voice, and bent down towards me. I could not see
any face, for his hood fell down so low; and I felt a sort of shiver
down my back. But I did not see why he should come riding over
my land so bold.
““Be off!’ I said. ‘““There are no Bagginses here. You’re in the
wrong part of the Shire. You had better go back west to Hobbiton
— but you can go by road this time.”’
‘*‘Baggins has left,”” he answered in a whisper. “‘He is coming. He
is not far away. I wish to find him. If he passes will you tell me? I
will come back with gold.”
‘*“Nlo you won't,” I said. ““You’ll go back where you belong,
double quick. I give you one minute before I call all my dogs.”
‘He gave a sort of hiss. It might have been laughing, and it might
not. Then he spurred his great horse right at me, and I jumped out
of the way only just in time. I called the dogs, but he swung off, and
rode through the gate and up the lane towards the causeway like a
bolt of thunder. What do you think of that?’
Frodo sat for a moment looking at the fire, but his only thought
was how on earth would they reach the Ferry. ‘I don’t know what
to think,’ he said at last.
“Then [ll tell you what to think,’ said Maggot. “You should never
have gone mixing yourself up with Hobbiton folk, Mr. Frodo. Folk
are queer up there.’ Sam stirred in his chair, and looked at the farmer
with an unfriendly eye. ‘But you were always a reckless lad. When I
heard you had left the Brandybucks and gone off to that old Mr.
Bilbo, I said that you were going to find trouble. Mark my words,
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS 95
this all comes of those strange doings of Mr. Bilbo’s. His money was
got in some strange fashion in foreign parts, they say. Maybe there
is some that want to know what has become of the gold and jewels
that he buried in the hill of Hobbiton, as I hear?’
Frodo said nothing: the shrewd guesses of the farmer were rather
disconcerting.
‘Well, Mr. Frodo,’ Maggot went on, ‘I’m glad that you’ve had the
sense to come back to Buckland. My advice is: stay there! And don’t
get mixed up with these outlandish folk. You’ll have friends in these
parts. If any of these black fellows come after you again, Ill deal
with them. Ill say you’re dead, or have left the Shire, or anything
you like. And that might be true enough; for as like as not it is old
Mr. Bilbo they want news of.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Frodo, avoiding the farmer’s eye and
staring at the fire.
Maggot looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I see you have ideas of
your own,’ he said. ‘It is as plain as my nose that no accident brought
you and that rider here on the same afternoon; and maybe my news
was no great news to you, after all. I am not asking you to tell me
anything you have a mind to keep to yourself; but I see you are in
some kind of trouble. Perhaps you are thinking it won’t be too easy
to get to the Ferry without being caught?’
‘I was thinking so,’ said Frodo. ‘But we have got to try and get
there; and it won’t be done by sitting and thinking. So I am afraid
we must be going. Thank you very much indeed for your kindness!
I’ve been in terror of you and your dogs for over thirty years, Farmer
Maggot, though you may laugh to hear it. It’s a pity: for ’ve missed
a good friend. And now I’m sorry to leave so soon. But Ill come
back, perhaps, one day — if I get a chance.’
“You’ll be welcome when you come,’ said Maggot. ‘But now I’ve
a notion. It’s near sundown already, and we are going to have our
supper; for we mostly go to bed soon after the Sun. If you and Mr.
Peregrin and all could stay and have a bite with us, we would be
pleased!’
‘And so should we!’ said Frodo. ‘But we must be going at once,
I’m afraid. Even now it will be dark before we can reach the Ferry.’
‘Ah! but wait a minute! I was going to say: after a bit of supper,
I'll get out a small waggon, and I’ll drive you all to the Ferry. That
will save you a good step, and it might also save you trouble of
another sort.’
Frodo now accepted the invitation gratefully, to the relief of Pippin
and Sam. The sun was already behind the western hills, and the light
was failing. Two of Maggot’s sons and his three daughters came in,
and a generous supper was laid on the large table. The kitchen was
96 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
lit with candles and the fire was mended. Mrs. Maggot bustled in
and out. One or two other hobbits belonging to the farm-household
came in. In a short while fourteen sat down to eat. There was beer
in plenty, and a mighty dish of mushrooms and bacon, besides much
other solid farmhouse fare. The dogs lay by the fire and gnawed rinds
and cracked bones.
When they had finished, the farmer and his sons went out with a
lantern and got the waggon ready. It was dark in the yard, when the
guests came out. They threw their packs on board and climbed in.
The farmer sat in the driving-seat, and whipped up his two stout
ponies. His wife stood in the light of the open door.
“You be careful of yourself, Maggot!’ she called. ‘Don’t go arguing
with any foreigners, and come straight back!’
‘I will!’ said he, and drove out of the gate. There was now no
breath of wind stirring; the night was still and quiet, and a chill was
in the air. They went without lights and took it slowly. After a mile
or two the lane came to an end, crossing a deep dike, and climbing
a short slope up on to the high-banked causeway.
Maggot got down and took a good look either way, north and
south, but nothing could be seen in the darkness, and there was not
a sound in the still air. Thin strands of river-mist were hanging above
the dikes, and crawling over the fields.
‘It’s going to be thick,’ said Maggot; ‘but I’ll not light my lanterns
till I turn for home. We'll hear anything on the road long before we
Meet it tonight.’
It was five miles or more from Maggot’s lane to the Ferry. The
hobbits wrapped themselves up, but their ears were strained for any
sound above the creak of the wheels and the slow clop of the ponies’
hoofs. The waggon seemed slower than a snail to Frodo. Beside him
Pippin was nodding towards sleep; but Sam was staring forwards
into the rising fog.
They reached the entrance to the Ferry lane at last. It was marked
by two tall white posts that suddenly loomed up on their right. Farmer
Maggot drew in his ponies and the waggon creaked to a halt. They
were just beginning to scramble out, when suddenly they heard what
they had all been dreading: hoofs on the road ahead. The sound was
coming towards them.
Maggot jumped down and stood holding the ponies’ heads, and
peering forward into the gloom. Clip-clop, clip-clop came the approach-
ing rider. The fall of the hoofs sounded loud in the still, foggy air.
‘You'd better be hidden, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam anxiously. ‘You
get down in the waggon and cover up with blankets, and we’ll send
this rider to the rightabouts!’ He climbed out and went to the farmer’s
A SHORT CUT TO MUSHROOMS 97
side. Black Riders would have to ride over him to get near the waggon.
Clop-clop, clop-clop. The rider was nearly on them.
‘Hallo there!’ called Farmer Maggot. The advancing hoofs stopped
short. They thought they could dimly guess a dark cloaked shape in
the mist, a yard or two ahead.
‘Now then!’ said the farmer, throwing the reins to Sam and striding
forward. ‘Don’t you come a step nearer! What do you want, and
where are you going?’
‘I want Mr. Baggins. Have you seen him?’ said a muffled voice —
but the voice was the voice of Merry Brandybuck. A dark lantern
was uncovered, and its light fell on the astonished face of the farmer.
‘Mr. Merry!’ he cried.
“Yes, of course! Who did you think it was?’ said Merry coming
forward. As he came out of the mist and their fears subsided, he
seemed suddenly to diminish to ordinary hobbit-size. He was riding
a pony, and a scarf was swathed round his neck and over his chin to
keep out the fog.
Frodo sprang out of the waggon to greet him. ‘So there you are
at last!’ said Merry. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you would turn
up at all today, and I was just going back to supper. When it grew
foggy I came across and rode up towards Stock to see if you had
fallen in any ditches. But I’m blest if I know which way you have
come. Where did you find them, Mr. Maggot? In your duck-pond?’
‘No, I caught ’em trespassing,’ said the farmer, ‘and nearly set my
dogs on ’em; but they’ll tell you all the story, I’ve no doubt. Now,
if youll excuse me, Mr. Merry and Mr. Frodo and all, I’d best be
turning for home. Mrs. Maggot will be worriting with the night
getting thick.’
He backed the waggon into the lane and turned it. ‘Well, good
night to you all,’ he said. ‘It’s been a queer day, and no mistake. But
all’s well as ends well; though perhaps we should not say that until
we reach our own doors. Pll not deny that P’ll be glad now when I
do.’ He lit his lanterns, and got up. Suddenly he produced a large
basket from under the seat. ‘I was nearly forgetting,’ he said. ‘Mrs.
Maggot put this up for Mr. Baggins, with her compliments.’ He
handed it down and moved off, followed by a chorus of thanks and
good-nights.
They watched the pale rings of light round his lanterns as they
dwindled into the foggy night. Suddenly Frodo laughed: from the
covered basket he held, the scent of mushrooms was rising.
Chapter 5
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED
“Now we had better get home ourselves,’ said Merry. “There’s some-
thing funny about all this, I see; but it must wait till we get in.’
They turned down the Ferry lane, which was straight and well-kept
and edged with large white-washed stones. In a hundred yards or so
it brought them to the river-bank, where there was a broad wooden
landing-stage. A large flat ferry-boat was moored beside it. The white
bollards near the water’s edge glimmered in the light of two lamps
on high posts. Behind them the mists in the flat fields were now
above the hedges; but the water before them was dark, with only a
few curling wisps like steam among the reeds by the bank. There
seemed to be less fog on the further side.
Merry led the pony over a gangway on to the ferry, and the others
followed. Merry then pushed slowly off with a long pole. The Brandy-
wine flowed slow and broad before them. On the other side the bank
was steep, and up it a winding path climbed from the further landing.
Lamps were twinkling there. Behind loomed up the Buck Hill; and
out of it, through stray shrouds of mist, shone many round windows,
yellow and red. They were the windows of Brandy Hall, the ancient
home of the Brandybucks.
Long ago Gorhendad Oldbuck, head of the Oldbuck family, one
of the oldest in the Marish or indeed in the Shire, had crossed the
river, which was the original boundary of the land eastwards. He
built (and excavated) Brandy Hall, changed his name to Brandybuck,
and settled down to become master of what was virtually a small
independent country. His family grew and grew, and after his days
continued to grow, until Brandy Hall occupied the whole of the low
hill, and had three large front-doors, many side-doors, and about a
hundred windows. The Brandybucks and their numerous dependants
then began to burrow, and later to build, all round about. That was
the origin of Buckland, a thickly inhabited strip between the river
and the Old Forest, a sort of colony from the Shire. Its chief village
was Bucklebury, clustering in the banks and slopes behind Brandy
Hall.
The people in the Marish were friendly with the Bucklanders, and
the authority of the Master of the Hall (as the head of the Brandybuck
family was called) was still acknowledged by the farmers between
Stock and Rushey. But most of the folk of the old Shire regarded
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED 99
the Bucklanders as peculiar, half foreigners as it were. Though, as a
matter of fact, they were not very different from the other hobbits of
the Four Farthings. Except in one point: they were fond of boats,
and some of them could swim.
Their land was originally unprotected from the East; but on that
side they had built a hedge: the High Hay. It had been planted many
generations ago, and was now thick and tall, for it was constantly
tended. It ran all the way from Brandywine Bridge, in a big loop
curving away from the river, to Haysend (where the Withywindle
flowed out of the Forest into the Brandywine): well over twenty miles
from end to end. But, of course, it was not a complete protection.
The Forest drew close to the hedge in many places. The Bucklanders
kept their doors locked after dark, and that also was not usual in the
Shire.
The ferry-boat moved slowly across the water. The Buckland shore
drew nearer. Sam was the only member of the party who had not
been over the river before. He had a strange feeling as the slow
gurgling stream slipped by: his old life lay behind in the mists, dark
adventure lay in front. He scratched his head, and for a moment had
a passing wish that Mr. Frodo could have gone on living quietly at
Bag End.
The four hobbits stepped off the ferry. Merry was tying it up, and
Pippin was already leading the pony up the path, when Sam (who
had been looking back, as if to take farewell of the Shire) said in a
hoarse whisper:
‘Look back, Mr. Frodo! Do you see anything?’
On the far stage, under the distant lamps, they could just make
out a figure: it looked like a dark black bundle left behind. But as
they looked it seemed to move and sway this way and that, as if
searching the ground. It then crawled, or went crouching, back into
the gloom beyond the lamps.
‘What in the Shire is that?’ exclaimed Merry.
‘Something that is following us,’ said Frodo. ‘But don’t ask any
more now! Let’s get away at once!’ They hurried up the path to the
top of the bank, but when they looked back the far shore was shrouded
in mist, and nothing could be seen.
“Thank goodness you don’t keep any boats on the west-bank!’ said
Frodo. ‘Can horses cross the river?’
“They can go ten miles north to Brandywine Bridge — or they
might swim,’ answered Merry. “Though I never heard of any horse
swimming the Brandywine. But what have horses to do with it?’
‘T'll tell you later. Let’s get indoors and then we can talk.’
‘All right! You and Pippin know your way; so [’ll just ride on and
100 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
tell Fatty Bolger that you are coming. We’ll see about supper and
things.’
‘We had our supper early with Farmer Maggot,’ said Frodo; ‘but
we could do with another.’
“You shall have it! Give me that basket!’ said Merry, and rode
ahead into the darkness.
It was some distance from the Brandywine to Frodo’s new house
at Crickhollow. They passed Buck Hill and Brandy Hall on their left,
and on the outskirts of Bucklebury struck the main road of Buckland
that ran south from the Bridge. Half a mile northward along this they
came to a lane opening on their right. This they followed for a couple
of miles as it climbed up and down into the country.
At last they came to a narrow gate in a thick hedge. Nothing could
be seen of the house in the dark: it stood back from the lane in the
middle of a wide circle of lawn surrounded by a belt of low trees
inside the outer hedge. Frodo had chosen it, because it stood in an
out-of-the-way corner of the country, and there were no other dwell-
ings close by. You could get in and out without being noticed. It had
been built a long while before by the Brandybucks, for the use of
guests, or members of the family that wished to escape from the
crowded life of Brandy Hall for a time. It was an old-fashioned
countrified house, as much like a hobbit-hole as possible: it was long
and low, with no upper storey; and it had a roof of turf, round
windows, and a large round door.
As they walked up the green path from the gate no light was visible;
the windows were dark and shuttered. Frodo knocked on the door,
and Fatty Bolger opened it. A friendly light streamed out. They
slipped in quickly and shut themselves and the light inside. They
were in a wide hall with doors on either side; in front of them a
passage ran back down the middle of the house.
‘Well, what do you think of it?’ asked Merry coming up the passage.
‘We have done our best in a short time to make it look like home. After
all Fatty and I only got here with the last cart-load yesterday.’
Frodo looked round. It did look like home. Many of his own
favourite things — or Bilbo’s things (they reminded him sharply of
him in their new setting) — were arranged as nearly as possible as
they had been at Bag End. It was a pleasant, comfortable, welcoming
place; and he found himself wishing that he was really coming here
to settle down in quiet retirement. It seemed unfair to have put his
friends to all this trouble; and he wondered again how he was going
to break the news to them that he must leave them so soon, indeed
at once. Yet that would have to be done that very night, before they
all went to bed.
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED IOI
‘It’s delightful!’ he said with an effort. ‘I hardly feel that I have
moved at all.’
The travellers hung up their cloaks, and piled their packs on the
floor. Merry led them down the passage and threw open a door at
the far end. Firelight came out, and a puff of steam.
‘A bath!’ cried Pippin. ‘O blessed Meriadoc!’
‘Which order shall we go in?’ said Frodo. ‘Eldest first, or quickest
first? You'll be last either way, Master Peregrin.’
“Trust me to arrange things better than that!’ said Merry. ‘We
can’t begin life at Crickhollow with a quarrel over baths. In that room
there are three tubs, and a copper full of boiling water. There are also
towels, mats and soap. Get inside, and be quick!’
Merry and Fatty went into the kitchen on the other side of the
passage, and busied themselves with the final preparations for a late
supper. Snatches of competing songs came from the bathroom mixed
with the sound of splashing and wallowing. The voice of Pippin
was suddenly lifted up above the others in one of Bilbo’s favourite
bath-songs.
Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
that washes the weary mud away!
A loon 1s he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is a noble thing!
O! Sweet 1s the sound of falling rain,
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
1s Water Hot that smokes and steams.
O! Water cold we may pour at need
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;
but better is Beer, tf drink we lack,
and Water Hot poured down the back.
O! Water is fair that leaps on high
in a fountain white beneath the sky;
but never did fountain sound so sweet
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!
There was a terrific splash, and a shout of Whoa! from Frodo. It
appeared that a lot of Pippin’s bath had imitated a fountain and
leaped on high.
102 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Merry went to the door: ‘What about supper and beer in the
throat?’ he called. Frodo came out drying his hair.
“There’s so much water in the air that I’m coming into the kitchen
to finish,’ he said.
‘Lawks!’ said Merry, looking in. The stone floor was swimming.
“You ought to mop all that up before you get anything to eat, Peregrin,’
he said. ‘Hurry up, or we shan’t wait for you.’
They had supper in the kitchen on a table near the fire. ‘I suppose
you three won’t want mushrooms again?’ said Fredegar without much
hope.
“Yes we shall!’ cried Pippin.
“They’re mine!’ said Frodo. ‘Given to me by Mrs. Maggot, a queen
among farmers’ wives. Take your greedy hands away, and I’ll serve
them.’
Hobbits have a passion for mushrooms, surpassing even the
greediest likings of Big People. A fact which partly explains young
Frodo’s long expeditions to the renowned fields of the Marish, and
the wrath of the injured Maggot. On this occasion there was plenty
for all, even according to hobbit standards. There were also many
other things to follow, and when they had finished even Fatty Bolger
heaved a sigh of content. They pushed back the table, and drew
chairs round the fire.
‘We'll clear up later,’ said Merry. ‘Now tell me all about it! I
guess that you have been having adventures, which was not quite fair
without me. I want a full account; and most of all I want to know
what was the matter with old Maggot, and why he spoke to me like
that. He sounded almost as if he was scared, if that is possible.’
‘We have all been scared,’ said Pippin after a pause, in which
Frodo stared at the fire and did not speak. ‘You would have been,
too, if you had been chased for two days by Black Riders.’
‘And what are they?’
‘Black figures riding on black horses,’ answered Pippin. ‘If Frodo
won’t talk, I will tell you the whole tale from the beginning.’ He then
gave a full account of their journey from the time when they left
Hobbiton. Sam gave various supporting nods and exclamations.
Frodo remained silent.
‘I should think you were making it all up,’ said Merry, ‘if I had
not seen that black shape on the landing-stage — and heard the queer
sound in Maggot’s voice. What do you make of it all, Frodo?’
‘Cousin Frodo has been very close,’ said Pippin. ‘But the time has
come for him to open out. So far we have been given nothing more
to go on than Farmer Maggot’s guess that it has something to do
with old Bilbo’s treasure.’
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED 103
“That was only a guess,’ said Frodo hastily. ‘Maggot does not know
anything.’
‘Old Maggot is a shrewd fellow,’ said Merry. ‘A lot goes on behind
his round face that does not come out in his talk. ’ve heard that he
used to go into the Old Forest at one time, and he has the reputation
of knowing a good many strange things. But you can at least tell us,
Frodo, whether you think his guess good or bad.’
‘I think,’ answered Frodo slowly, ‘that it was a good guess, as far
as it goes. There is a connexion with Bilbo’s old adventures, and the
Riders are looking, or perhaps one ought to say searching, for him or
for me. I also fear, if you want to know, that it is no joke at all; and
that I am not safe here or anywhere else.’ He looked round at the
windows and walls, as if he was afraid they would suddenly give way.
The others looked at him in silence, and exchanged meaning glances
among themselves.
‘It’s coming out in a minute,’ whispered Pippin to Merry. Merry
nodded.
‘Well!’ said Frodo at last, sitting up and straightening his back, as
if he had made a decision. ‘I can’t keep it dark any longer. I have
got something to tell you all. But I don’t know quite how to begin.’
‘I think I could help you,’ said Merry quietly, ‘by telling you some
of it myself.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Frodo, looking at him anxiously.
‘Just this, my dear old Frodo: you are miserable, because you don’t
know how to say good-bye. You meant to leave the Shire, of course.
But danger has come on you sooner than you expected, and now
you are making up your mind to go at once. And you don’t want to.
We are very sorry for you.’
Frodo opened his mouth and shut it again. His look of surprise
was so comical that they laughed. ‘Dear old Frodo!’ said Pippin. ‘Did
you really think you had thrown dust in all our eyes? You have not
been nearly careful or clever enough for that! You have obviously
been planning to go and saying farewell to all your haunts all this
year since April. We have constantly heard you muttering: ‘“‘Shall I
ever look down into that valley again, I wonder’’, and things like
that. And pretending that you had come to the end of your money,
and actually selling your beloved Bag End to those Sackville-
Bagginses! And all those close talks with Gandalf.’
‘Good heavens!’ said Frodo. ‘I thought I had been both careful
and clever. I don’t know what Gandalf would say. Is all the Shire
discussing my departure then?’
‘Oh no!’ said Merry. ‘Don’t worry about that! The secret won’t
keep for long, of course; but at present it is, I think, only known to
us conspirators. After all, you must remember that we know you well,
104 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
and are often with you. We can usually guess what you are thinking.
I knew Bilbo, too. To tell you the truth, I have been watching you
rather closely ever since he left. I thought you would go after him
sooner or later; indeed I expected you to go sooner, and lately we
have been very anxious. We have been terrified that you might give
us the slip, and go off suddenly, all on your own like he did. Ever
since this spring we have kept our eyes open, and done a good deal
of planning on our own account. You are not going to escape so
easily!’
‘But I must go,’ said Frodo. ‘It cannot be helped, dear friends. It
is wretched for us all, but it is no use your trying to keep me. Since
you have guessed so much, please help me and do not hinder me!’
“You do not understand!’ said Pippin. ‘You must go — and there-
fore we must, too. Merry and I are coming with you. Sam is an
excellent fellow, and would jump down a dragon’s throat to save you,
if he did not trip over his own feet; but you will need more than one
companion in your dangerous adventure.’
‘My dear and most beloved hobbits!’ said Frodo deeply moved. ‘But
I could not allow it. I decided that long ago, too. You speak of danger,
but you do not understand. This is no treasure-hunt, no there-and-
back journey. I am flying from deadly peril into deadly peril.’
‘Of course we understand,’ said Merry firmly. “That is why we
have decided to come. We know the Ring is no laughing-matter; but
we are going to do our best to help you against the Enemy.’
“The Ring!’ said Frodo, now completely amazed.
“Yes, the Ring,’ said Merry. ‘My dear old hobbit, you don’t allow
for the inquisitiveness of friends. I have known about the existence
of the Ring for years — before Bilbo went away, in fact; but since he
obviously regarded it as secret, I kept the knowledge in my head,
until we formed our conspiracy. I did not know Bilbo, of course, as
well as I know you; I was too young, and he was also more careful
— but he was not careful enough. If you want to know how I first
found out, I will tell you.’
‘Go on!’ said Frodo faintly.
‘It was the Sackville-Bagginses that were his downfall, as you might
expect. One day, a year before the Party, I happened to be walking
along the road, when I saw Bilbo ahead. Suddenly in the distance
the S.-B.s appeared, coming towards us. Bilbo slowed down, and
then hey presto! he vanished. I was so startled that I hardly had the
wits to hide myself in a more ordinary fashion; but I got through the
hedge and walked along the field inside. I was peeping through into
the road, after the S.-B.s had passed, and was looking straight at
Bilbo when he suddenly reappeared. I caught a glint of gold as he
put something back in his trouser-pocket.
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED 105
‘After that I kept my eyes open. In fact, I confess that I spied. But
you must admit that it was very intriguing, and I was only in my
teens. I must be the only one in the Shire, besides you Frodo, that
has ever seen the old fellow’s secret book.’
“You have read his book!’ cried Frodo. ‘Good heavens above! Is
nothing safe?’
‘Not too safe, I should say,’ said Merry. ‘But I have only had one
rapid glance, and that was difficult to get. He never left the book
about. I wonder what became of it. I should like another look. Have
you got it, Frodo?’
‘No. It was not at Bag End. He must have taken it away.’
‘Well, as I was saying,’ Merry proceeded, ‘I kept my knowledge
to myself, till this spring when things got serious. Then we formed
our conspiracy; and as we were serious, too, and meant business, we
have not been too scrupulous. You are not a very easy nut to crack,
and Gandalf is worse. But if you want to be introduced to our chief
investigator, I can produce him.’
‘Where is he?’ said Frodo, looking round, as if he expected a
masked and sinister figure to come out of a cupboard.
‘Step forward, Sam!’ said Merry; and Sam stood up with a face
scarlet up to the ears. ‘Here’s our collector of information! And he
collected a lot, I can tell you, before he was finally caught. After
which, I may say, he seemed to regard himself as on parole, and
dried up.’
‘Sam!’ cried Frodo, feeling that amazement could go no further,
and quite unable to decide whether he felt angry, amused, relieved,
or merely foolish.
‘Yes, sir!’ said Sam. ‘Begging your pardon, sir! But I meant no
wrong to you, Mr. Frodo, nor to Mr. Gandalf for that matter. He
has some sense, mind you; and when you said go alone, he said no!
take someone as you can trust.’
‘But it does not seem that I can trust anyone,’ said Frodo.
Sam looked at him unhappily. ‘It all depends on what you want,’
put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and
thin — to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of
yours — closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to
let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your
friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf
has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly
afraid — but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.’
‘And after all, sir,? added Sam, ‘you did ought to take the Elves’
advice. Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you
can’t deny it.’
‘I don’t deny it,’ said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now
106 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
grinning. ‘I don’t deny it, but I’ll never believe you are sleeping again,
whether you snore or not. I shall kick you hard to make sure.
“You are a set of deceitful scoundrels!’ he said, turning to the
others. ‘But bless you!’ he laughed, getting up and waving his arms,
‘I give in. I will take Gildor’s advice. If the danger were not so dark,
I should dance for joy. Even so, I cannot help feeling happy; happier
than I have felt for a long time. I had dreaded this evening.’
‘Good! That’s settled. Three cheers for Captain Frodo and com-
pany!’ they shouted; and they danced round him. Merry and Pippin
began a song, which they had apparently got ready for the occasion.
It was made on the model of the dwarf-song that started Bilbo on
his adventure long ago, and went to the same tune:
Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.
To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.
With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.
We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!
‘Very good!’ said Frodo. ‘But in that case there are a lot of things
to do before we go to bed — under a roof, for tonight at any rate.’
‘Oh! That was poetry!’ said Pippin. ‘Do you really mean to start
before the break of day?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Frodo. ‘I fear those Black Riders, and
I am sure it is unsafe to stay in one place long, especially in a place
to which it is known I was going. Also Gildor advised me not to
wait. But I should very much like to see Gandalf. I could see that
even Gildor was disturbed when he heard that Gandalf had never
appeared. It really depends on two things. How soon could the Riders
get to Bucklebury? And how soon could we get off? It will take a
good deal of preparation.’
“The answer to the second question,’ said Merry, ‘is that we could
A CONSPIRACY UNMASKED I07
get off in an hour. I have prepared practically everything. There are
five ponies in a stable across the fields; stores and tackle are all
packed, except for a few extra clothes, and the perishable food.’
‘It seems to have been a very efficient conspiracy,’ said Frodo.
‘But what about the Black Riders? Would it be safe to wait one day
for Gandalf?’
“That all depends on what you think the Riders would do, if they
found you here,’ answered Merry. “They could have reached here by
now, of course, if they were not stopped at the North-gate, where
the Hedge runs down to the river-bank, just this side of the Bridge.
The gate-guards would not let them through by night, though they
might break through. Even in the daylight they would try to keep
them out, I think, at any rate until they got a message through to
the Master of the Hall — for they would not like the look of the Riders,
and would certainly be frightened by them. But, of course, Buckland
cannot resist a determined attack for long. And it is possible that in
the morning even a Black Rider that rode up and asked for Mr.
Baggins would be let through. It is pretty generally known that you
are coming back to live at Crickhollow.’
Frodo sat for a while in thought. ‘I have made up my mind,’ he
said finally. ‘I am starting tomorrow, as soon as it is light. But I am
not going by road: it would be safer to wait here than that. If I go
through the North-gate my departure from Buckland will be known
at once, instead of being secret for several days at least, as it might be.
And what is more, the Bridge and the East Road near the borders will
certainly be watched, whether any Rider gets into Buckland or not. We
don’t know how many there are; but there are at least two, and possibly
more. The only thing to do is to go off in a quite unexpected direction.’
‘But that can only mean going into the Old Forest!’ said Fredegar
horrified. “You can’t be thinking of doing that. It is quite as dangerous
as Black Riders.’
‘Not quite,’ said Merry. ‘It sounds very desperate, but I believe
Frodo is right. It is the only way of getting off without being followed
at once. With luck we might get a considerable start.’
‘But you won’t have any luck in the Old Forest,’ objected Fredegar.
“No one ever has luck in there. You’ll get lost. People don’t go in there.’
‘Oh yes they do!’ said Merry. “The Brandybucks go in — occasion-
ally when the fit takes them. We have a private entrance. Frodo went
in once, long ago. I have been in several times: usually in daylight,
of course, when the trees are sleepy and fairly quiet.’
‘Well, do as you think best!’ said Fredegar. ‘I am more afraid of
the Old Forest than of anything I know about: the stories about it
are a nightmare; but my vote hardly counts, as I am not going on
108 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
the journey. Still, I am very glad someone is stopping behind, who
can tell Gandalf what you have done, when he turns up, as I am sure
he will before long.’
Fond as he was of Frodo, Fatty Bolger had no desire to leave
the Shire, nor to see what lay outside it. His family came from the
Eastfarthing, from Budgeford in Bridgefields in fact, but he had never
been over the Brandywine Bridge. His task, according to the original
plans of the conspirators, was to stay behind and deal with inquisitive
folk, and to keep up as long as possible the pretence that Mr. Baggins
was still living at Crickhollow. He had even brought along some old
clothes of Frodo’s to help him in playing the part. They little thought
how dangerous that part might prove.
‘Excellent!’ said Frodo, when he understood the plan. ‘We could
not have left any message behind for Gandalf otherwise. I don’t know
whether these Riders can read or not, of course, but I should not
have dared to risk a written message, in case they got in and searched
the house. But if Fatty is willing to hold the fort, and I can be sure
of Gandalf knowing the way we have gone, that decides me. I am
going into the Old Forest first thing tomorrow.’
‘Well, that’s that,’ said Pippin. ‘On the whole I would rather have
our job than Fatty’s — waiting here till Black Riders come.’
“You wait till you are well inside the Forest,’ said Fredegar. ‘You'll
wish you were back here with me before this time tomorrow.’
‘It’s no good arguing about it any more,’ said Merry. ‘We have
still got to tidy up and put the finishing touches to the packing, before
we get to bed. I shall call you all before the break of day.’
When at last he had got to bed, Frodo could not sleep for some
time. His legs ached. He was glad that he was riding in the morning.
Eventually he fell into a vague dream, in which he seemed to be
looking out of a high window over a dark sea of tangled trees. Down
below among the roots there was the sound of creatures crawling
and snuffling. He felt sure they would smell him out sooner or later.
Then he heard a noise in the distance. At first he thought it was
a great wind coming over the leaves of the forest. Then he knew that
it was not leaves, but the sound of the Sea far-off; a sound he had
never heard in waking life, though it had often troubled his dreams.
Suddenly he found he was out in the open. There were no trees after
all. He was on a dark heath, and there was a strange salt smell in the
air. Looking up he saw before him a tall white tower, standing alone
on a high ridge. A great desire came over him to climb the tower
and see the Sea. He started to struggle up the ridge towards the
tower: but suddenly a light came in the sky, and there was a noise
of thunder.
Chapter 6
THE OLD FOREST
Frodo woke suddenly. It was still dark in the room. Merry was stand-
ing there with a candle in one hand, and banging on the door with the
other. ‘All right! What is it?’ said Frodo, still shaken and bewildered.
‘What is it!’ cried Merry. ‘It is time to get up. It is half past four
and very foggy. Come on! Sam is already getting breakfast ready.
Even Pippin is up. I am just going to saddle the ponies, and fetch
the one that is to be the baggage-carrier. Wake that sluggard Fatty!
At least he must get up and see us off.’
Soon after six o’clock the five hobbits were ready to start. Fatty
Bolger was still yawning. They stole quietly out of the house. Merry
went in front leading a laden pony, and took his way along a path
that went through a spinney behind the house, and then cut across
several fields. The leaves of trees were glistening, and every twig was
dripping; the grass was grey with cold dew. Everything was still, and
far-away noises seemed near and clear: fowls chattering in a yard,
someone closing a door of a distant house.
In their shed they found the ponies: sturdy little beasts of the kind
loved by hobbits, not speedy, but good for a long day’s work. They
mounted, and soon they were riding off into the mist, which seemed
to open reluctantly before them and close forbiddingly behind them.
After riding for about an hour, slowly and without talking, they saw
the Hedge looming suddenly ahead. It was tall and netted over with
silver cobwebs.
‘How are you going to get through this?’ asked Fredegar.
‘Follow me!’ said Merry, ‘and you will see.’ He turned to the left
along the Hedge, and soon they came to a point where it bent inwards,
running along the lip of a hollow. A cutting had been made, at some
distance from the Hedge, and went sloping gently down into the
ground. It had walls of brick at the sides, which rose steadily, until
suddenly they arched over and formed a tunnel that dived deep under
the Hedge and came out in the hollow on the other side.
Here Fatty Bolger halted. ‘Good-bye, Frodo!’ he said. ‘I wish you
were not going into the Forest. I only hope you will not need rescu-
ing before the day is out. But good luck to you — today and every
day!’
‘If there are no worse things ahead than the Old Forest, I shall be
lucky,’ said Frodo. “Tell Gandalf to hurry along the East Road: we
shall soon be back on it and going as fast as we can.” ‘Good-bye!’
IIO THE LORD OF THE RINGS
they cried, and rode down the slope and disappeared from Fredegar’s
sight into the tunnel.
It was dark and damp. At the far end it was closed by a gate of
thick-set iron bars. Merry got down and unlocked the gate, and when
they had all passed through he pushed it to again. It shut with a
clang, and the lock clicked. The sound was ominous.
‘There!’ said Merry. ‘You have left the Shire, and are now outside,
and on the edge of the Old Forest.’
‘Are the stories about it true?’ asked Pippin.
‘I don’t know what stories you mean,’ Merry answered. ‘If you
mean the old bogey-stories Fatty’s nurses used to tell him, about
goblins and wolves and things of that sort, I should say no. At any
rate I don’t believe them. But the Forest zs queer. Everything in it is
very much more alive, more aware of what is going on, so to speak,
than things are in the Shire. And the trees do not like strangers. They
watch you. They are usually content merely to watch you, as long as
daylight lasts, and don’t do much. Occasionally the most unfriendly
ones may drop a branch, or stick a root out, or grasp at you with a
long trailer. But at night things can be most alarming, or so I am
told. I have only once or twice been in here after dark, and then only
near the hedge. I thought all the trees were whispering to each other,
passing news and plots along in an unintelligible language; and the
branches swayed and groped without any wind. They do say the trees
do actually move, and can surround strangers and hem them in. In
fact long ago they attacked the Hedge: they came and planted them-
selves right by it, and leaned over it. But the hobbits came and cut
down hundreds of trees, and made a great bonfire in the Forest, and
burned all the ground in a long strip east of the Hedge. After that
the trees gave up the attack, but they became very unfriendly. There
is still a wide bare space not far inside where the bonfire was made.’
‘Is it only the trees that are dangerous?’ asked Pippin.
“There are various queer things living deep in the Forest, and on
the far side,’ said Merry, ‘or at least I have heard so; but I have never
seen any of them. But something makes paths. Whenever one comes
inside one finds open tracks; but they seem to shift and change from
time to time in a queer fashion. Not far from this tunnel there is, or
was for a long time, the beginning of quite a broad path leading to
the Bonfire Glade, and then on more or less in our direction, east
and a little north. That is the path I am going to try and find.’
The hobbits now left the tunnel-gate and rode across the wide
hollow. On the far side was a faint path leading up on to the floor
of the Forest, a hundred yards and more beyond the Hedge; but it
vanished as soon as it brought them under the trees. Looking back they
THE OLD FOREST III
could see the dark line of the Hedge through the stems of trees that
were already thick about them. Looking ahead they could see only
tree-trunks of innumerable sizes and shapes: straight or bent, twisted,
leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched; and all
the stems were green or grey with moss and slimy, shaggy growths.
Merry alone seemed fairly cheerful. “You had better lead on and
find that path,’ Frodo said to him. ‘Don’t let us lose one another, or
forget which way the Hedge lies!’
They picked a way among the trees, and their ponies plodded
along, carefully avoiding the many writhing and interlacing roots.
There was no undergrowth. The ground was rising steadily, and as
they went forward it seemed that the trees became taller, darker, and
thicker. There was no sound, except an occasional drip of moisture
falling through the still leaves. For the moment there was no whisper-
ing or movement among the branches; but they all got an uncomfort-
able feeling that they were being watched with disapproval, deepening
to dislike and even enmity. The feeling steadily grew, until they found
themselves looking up quickly, or glancing back over their shoulders,
as if they expected a sudden blow.
There was not as yet any sign of a path, and the trees seemed
constantly to bar their way. Pippin suddenly felt that he could not
bear it any longer, and without warning let out a shout. ‘Oi! Oi!’ he
cried. ‘I am not going to do anything. Just let me pass through, will
you!’
The others halted startled; but the cry fell as if muffled by a heavy
curtain. There was no echo or answer though the wood seemed to
become more crowded and more watchful than before.
‘I should not shout, if I were you,’ said Merry. ‘It does more harm
than good.’
Frodo began to wonder if it were possible to find a way through,
and if he had been right to make the others come into this abominable
wood. Merry was looking from side to side, and seemed already
uncertain which way to go. Pippin noticed it. ‘It has not taken you
long to lose us,’ he said. But at that moment Merry gave a whistle
of relief and pointed ahead.
‘Well, well!’ he said. “These trees do shift. There is the Bonfire
Glade in front of us (or I hope so), but the path to it seems to have
moved away!’
The light grew clearer as they went forward. Suddenly they came
out of the trees and found themselves in a wide circular space. There
was sky above them, blue and clear to their surprise, for down under
the Forest-roof they had not been able to see the rising morning and
the lifting of the mist. The sun was not, however, high enough yet
II2 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
to shine down into the clearing, though its light was on the tree-tops.
The leaves were all thicker and greener about the edges of the glade,
enclosing it with an almost solid wall. No tree grew there, only rough
grass and many tall plants: stalky and faded hemlocks and wood-
parsley, fire-weed seeding into fluffy ashes, and rampant nettles and
thistles. A dreary place: but it seemed a charming and cheerful garden
after the close Forest.
The hobbits felt encouraged, and looked up hopefully at the broad-
ening daylight in the sky. At the far side of the glade there was a
break in the wall of trees, and a clear path beyond it. They could see
it running on into the wood, wide in places and open above, though
every now and again the trees drew in and overshadowed it with their
dark boughs. Up this path they rode. They were still climbing gently,
but they now went much quicker, and with better heart; for it seemed
to them that the Forest had relented, and was going to let them pass
unhindered after all.
But after a while the air began to get hot and stuffy. The trees
drew close again on either side, and they could no longer see far
ahead. Now stronger than ever they felt again the ill will of the wood
pressing on them. So silent was it that the fall of their ponies’ hoofs,
rustling on dead leaves and occasionally stumbling on hidden roots,
seemed to thud in their ears. Frodo tried to sing a song to encourage
them, but his voice sank to a murmur.
O! Wanderers in the shadowed land
despair not! For though dark they stand,
all woods there be must end at last,
and see the open sun go past:
the setting sun, the rising sun,
the day’s end, or the day begun.
For east or west all woods must fail...
Fail — even as he said the word his voice faded into silence. The
air seemed heavy and the making of words wearisome. Just behind
them a large branch fell from an old overhanging tree with a crash
into the path. The trees seemed to close in before them.
“They do not like all that about ending and failing,’ said Merry.
‘I should not sing any more at present. Wait till we do get to the
edge, and then we’ll turn and give them a rousing chorus!’
He spoke cheerfully, and if he felt any great anxiety, he did not
show it. The others did not answer. They were depressed. A heavy
weight was settling steadily on Frodo’s heart, and he regretted now
with every step forward that he had ever thought of challenging the
menace of the trees. He was, indeed, just about to stop and propose
THE OLD FOREST II3
going back (if that was still possible), when things took a new turn.
The path stopped climbing, and became for a while nearly level. The
dark trees drew aside, and ahead they could see the path going almost
straight forward. Before them, but some distance off, there stood a
green hill-top, treeless, rising like a bald head out of the encircling
wood. The path seemed to be making directly for it.
They now hurried forward again, delighted with the thought of
climbing out for a while above the roof of the Forest. The path
dipped, and then again began to climb upwards, leading them at last
to the foot of the steep hillside. There it left the trees and faded into
the turf. The wood stood all round the hill like thick hair that ended
sharply in a circle round a shaven crown.
The hobbits led their ponies up, winding round and round until
they reached the top. There they stood and gazed about them. The
air was gleaming and sunlit, but hazy; and they could not see to any
great distance. Near at hand the mist was now almost gone; though
here and there it lay in hollows of the wood, and to the south of
them, out of a deep fold cutting right across the Forest, the fog still
rose like steam or wisps of white smoke.
‘That,’ said Merry, pointing with his hand, ‘that is the line of the
Withywindle. It comes down out of the Downs and flows south-west
through the midst of the Forest to join the Brandywine below
Haysend. We don’t want to go that way! The Withywindle valley is
said to be the queerest part of the whole wood — the centre from
which all the queerness comes, as it were.’
The others looked in the direction that Merry pointed out, but
they could see little but mists over the damp and deep-cut valley;
and beyond it the southern half of the Forest faded from view.
The sun on the hill-top was now getting hot. It must have been
about eleven o’clock; but the autumn haze still prevented them from
seeing much in other directions. In the west they could not make out
either the line of the Hedge or the valley of the Brandywine beyond
it. Northward, where they looked most hopefully, they could see
nothing that might be the line of the great East Road, for which they
were making. They were on an island in a sea of trees, and the horizon
was veiled.
On the south-eastern side the ground fell very steeply, as if the
slopes of the hill were continued far down under the trees, like island-
shores that really are the sides of a mountain rising out of deep waters.
They sat on the green edge and looked out over the woods below
them, while they ate their mid-day meal. As the sun rose and passed
noon they glimpsed far off in the east the grey-green lines of the
Downs that lay beyond the Old Forest on that side. That cheered
II4 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
them greatly; for it was good to see a sight of anything beyond the
wood’s borders, though they did not mean to go that way, if they
could help it: the Barrow-downs had as sinister a reputation in hobbit-
legend as the Forest itself.
At length they made up their minds to go on again. The path that
had brought them to the hill reappeared on the northward side; but
they had not followed it far before they became aware that it was
bending steadily to the right. Soon it began to descend rapidly and
they guessed that it must actually be heading towards the Withy-
windle valley: not at all the direction they wished to take. After some
discussion they decided to leave this misleading path and strike north-
ward; for although they had not been able to see it from the hill-top,
the Road must lie that way, and it could not be many miles off. Also
northward, and to the left of the path, the land seemed to be drier
and more open, climbing up to slopes where the trees were thinner,
and pines and firs replaced the oaks and ashes and other strange and
nameless trees of the denser wood.
At first their choice seemed to be good: they got along at a fair
speed, though whenever they got a glimpse of the sun in an open
glade they seemed unaccountably to have veered eastwards. But after
a time the trees began to close in again, just where they had appeared
from a distance to be thinner and less tangled. Then deep folds
in the ground were discovered unexpectedly, like the ruts of great
giant-wheels or wide moats and sunken roads long disused and
choked with brambles. These lay usually right across their line of
march, and could only be crossed by scrambling down and out again,
which was troublesome and difficult with their ponies. Each time
they climbed down they found the hollow filled with thick bushes
and matted undergrowth, which somehow would not yield to the
left, but only gave way when they turned to the right; and they had
to go some distance along the bottom before they could find a way
up the further bank. Each time they clambered out, the trees seemed
deeper and darker; and always to the left and upwards it was most
difficult to find a way, and they were forced to the right and
downwards.
After an hour or two they had lost all clear sense of direction,
though they knew well enough that they had long ceased to go north-
ward at all. They were being headed off, and were simply following
a course chosen for them — eastwards and southwards, into the heart
of the Forest and not out of it.
The afternoon was wearing away when they scrambled and
stumbled into a fold that was wider and deeper than any they had
THE OLD FOREST II5
yet met. It was so steep and overhung that it proved impossible to
climb out of it again, either forwards or backwards, without leaving
their ponies and their baggage behind. All they could do was to follow
the fold — downwards. The ground grew soft, and in places boggy;
springs appeared in the banks, and soon they found themselves fol-
lowing a brook that trickled and babbled through a weedy bed. Then
the ground began to fall rapidly, and the brook growing strong and
noisy, flowed and leaped swiftly downhill. They were in a deep dim-lit
gully over-arched by trees high above them.
After stumbling along for some way along the stream, they came
quite suddenly out of the gloom. As if through a gate they saw the
sunlight before them. Coming to the opening they found that they
had made their way down through a cleft in a high steep bank, almost
a cliff. At its feet was a wide space of grass and reeds; and in the
distance could be glimpsed another bank almost as steep. A golden
afternoon of late sunshine lay warm and drowsy upon the hidden
land between. In the midst of it there wound lazily a dark river of
brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows,
blocked with fallen willows, and flecked with thousands of faded
willow-leaves. The air was thick with them, fluttering yellow from
the branches; for there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing softly
in the valley, and the reeds were rustling, and the willow-boughs were
creaking.
‘Well, now I have at least some notion of where we are!’ said
Merry. ‘We have come almost in the opposite direction to which we
intended. This is the River Withywindle! I will go on and explore.’
He passed out into the sunshine and disappeared into the long
grasses. After a while he reappeared, and reported that there was
fairly solid ground between the cliff-foot and the river; in some places
firm turf went down to the water’s edge. ‘What’s more,’ he said,
‘there seems to be something like a footpath winding along on this
side of the river. If we turn left and follow it, we shall be bound to
come out on the east side of the Forest eventually.’
‘I dare say!’ said Pippin. ‘That is, if the track goes on so far, and
does not simply lead us into a bog and leave us there. Who made
the track, do you suppose, and why? I am sure it was not for our
benefit. I am getting very suspicious of this Forest and everything in
it, and I begin to believe all the stories about it. And have you any
idea how far eastward we should have to go?’
‘No,’ said Merry, ‘I haven’t. I don’t know in the least how far
down the Withywindle we are, or who could possibly come here often
enough to make a path along it. But there is no other way out that
I can see or think of.’
There being nothing else for it, they filed out, and Merry led them
116 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
to the path that he had discovered. Everywhere the reeds and grasses
were lush and tall, in places far above their heads; but once found,
the path was easy to follow, as it turned and twisted, picking out the
sounder ground among the bogs and pools. Here and there it passed
over other rills, running down gullies into the Withywindle out of
the higher forest-lands, and at these points there were tree-trunks or
bundles of brushwood laid carefully across.
The hobbits began to feel very hot. There were armies of flies of
all kinds buzzing round their ears, and the afternoon sun was burning
on their backs. At last they came suddenly into a thin shade; great
grey branches reached across the path. Each step forward became
more reluctant than the last. Sleepiness seemed to be creeping out
of the ground and up their legs, and falling softly out of the air upon
their heads and eyes.
Frodo felt his chin go down and his head nod. Just in front of him
Pippin fell forward on to his knees. Frodo halted. ‘It’s no good,’ he
heard Merry saying. ‘Can’t go another step without rest. Must have
nap. It’s cool under the willows. Less flies!’
Frodo did not like the sound of this. ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘We
can’t have a nap yet. We must get clear of the Forest first.’ But the
others were too far gone to care. Beside them Sam stood yawning
and blinking stupidly.
Suddenly Frodo himself felt sleep overwhelming him. His head
swam. There now seemed hardly a sound in the air. The flies had
stopped buzzing. Only a gentle noise on the edge of hearing, a soft
fluttering as of a song half whispered, seemed to stir in the boughs
above. He lifted his heavy eyes and saw leaning over him a huge
willow-tree, old and hoary. Enormous it looked, its sprawling
branches going up like reaching arms with many long-fingered hands,
its knotted and twisted trunk gaping in wide fissures that creaked
faintly as the boughs moved. The leaves fluttering against the bright
sky dazzled him, and he toppled over, lying where he fell upon the
grass.
Merry and Pippin dragged themselves forward and lay down with
their backs to the willow-trunk. Behind them the great cracks gaped
wide to receive them as the tree swayed and creaked. They looked
up at the grey and yellow leaves, moving softly against the light, and
singing. They shut their eyes, and then it seemed that they could
almost hear words, cool words, saying something about water and
sleep. They gave themselves up to the spell and fell fast asleep at the
foot of the great grey willow.
Frodo lay for a while fighting with the sleep that was overpowering
him; then with an effort he struggled to his feet again. He felt a
THE OLD FOREST Il?
compelling desire for cool water. ‘Wait for me, Sam,’ he stammered.
‘Must bathe feet a minute.’
Half in a dream he wandered forward to the riverward side of the
tree, where great winding roots grew out into the stream, like gnarled
dragonets straining down to drink. He straddled one of these, and
paddled his hot feet in the cool brown water; and there he too
suddenly fell asleep with his back against the tree.
Sam sat down and scratched his head, and yawned like a cavern.
He was worried. The afternoon was getting late, and he thought this
sudden sleepiness uncanny. “There’s more behind this than sun and
warm air,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I don’t like this great big tree. I
don’t trust it. Hark at it singing about sleep now! This won’t do at
all!’
He pulled himself to his feet, and staggered off to see what had
become of the ponies. He found that two had wandered on a good
way along the path; and he had just caught them and brought them
back towards the others, when he heard two noises; one loud, and
the other soft but very clear. One was the splash of something heavy
falling into the water; the other was a noise like the snick of a lock
when a door quietly closes fast.
He rushed back to the bank. Frodo was in the water close to the
edge, and a great tree-root seemed to be over him and holding him
down, but he was not struggling. Sam gripped him by the jacket, and
dragged him from under the root; and then with difficulty hauled
him on to the bank. Almost at once he woke, and coughed and
spluttered.
‘Do you know, Sam,” he said at length, ‘the beastly tree threw me
in! I felt it. The big root just twisted round and tipped me in!’
“You were dreaming I expect, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘You
shouldn’t sit in such a place, if you feel sleepy.’
‘What about the others?’ Frodo asked. ‘I wonder what sort of
dreams they are having.’
They went round to the other side of the tree, and then Sam
understood the click that he had heard. Pippin had vanished. The
crack by which he had laid himself had closed together, so that not
a chink could be seen. Merry was trapped: another crack had closed
about his waist; his legs lay outside, but the rest of him was inside a
dark opening, the edges of which gripped like a pair of pincers.
Frodo and Sam beat first upon the tree-trunk where Pippin had
lain. They then struggled frantically to pull open the jaws of the crack
that held poor Merry. It was quite useless.
‘What a foul thing to happen!’ cried Frodo wildly. ‘Why did we
ever come into this dreadful Forest? I wish we were all back at
118 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Crickhollow!’ He kicked the tree with all his strength, heedless of his
own feet. A hardly perceptible shiver ran through the stem and up
into the branches; the leaves rustled and whispered, but with a sound
now of faint and far-off laughter.
‘I suppose we haven’t got an axe among our luggage, Mr. Frodo?’
asked Sam.
‘I brought a little hatchet for chopping firewood,’ said Frodo. “That
wouldn’t be much use.’
‘Wait a minute!’ cried Sam, struck by an idea suggested by fire-
wood. ‘We might do something with fire!’
‘We might,’ said Frodo doubtfully. ‘We might succeed in roasting
Pippin alive inside.’
‘We might try to hurt or frighten this tree to begin with,’ said Sam
fiercely. ‘If it don’t let them go, Ill have it down, if I have to gnaw
it.’ He ran to the ponies and before long came back with two tinder-
boxes and a hatchet.
Quickly they gathered dry grass and leaves, and bits of bark; and
made a pile of broken twigs and chopped sticks. These they heaped
against the trunk on the far side of the tree from the prisoners. As
soon as Sam had struck a spark into the tinder, it kindled the dry
grass and a flurry of flame and smoke went up. The twigs crackled.
Little fingers of fire licked against the dry scored rind of the ancient
tree and scorched it. A tremor ran through the whole willow. The
leaves seemed to hiss above their heads with a sound of pain and
anger. A loud scream came from Merry, and from far inside the tree
they heard Pippin give a muffled yell.
‘Put it out! Put it out!’ cried Merry. ‘He’ll squeeze me in two, if
you don’t. He says so!’
‘Who? What?’ shouted Frodo, rushing round to the other side of
the tree.
‘Put it out! Put it out!’ begged Merry. The branches of the willow
began to sway violently. There was a sound as of a wind rising and
spreading outwards to the branches of all the other trees round about,
as though they had dropped a stone into the quiet slumber of the
river-valley and set up ripples of anger that ran out over the whole
Forest. Sam kicked at the little fire and stamped out the sparks. But
Frodo, without any clear idea of why he did so, or what he hoped
for, ran along the path crying help! help! help! It seemed to him that
he could hardly hear the sound of his own shrill voice: it was blown
away from him by the willow-wind and drowned in a clamour of
leaves, as soon as the words left his mouth. He felt desperate: lost
and witless.
Suddenly he stopped. There was an answer, or so he thought; but
it seemed to come from behind him, away down the path further
THE OLD FOREST II9
back in the Forest. He turned round and listened, and soon there
could be no doubt: someone was singing a song; a deep glad voice
was singing carelessly and happily, but it was singing nonsense:
Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!
Half hopeful and half afraid of some new danger, Frodo and Sam
now both stood still. Suddenly out of a long string of nonsense-words
(or so they seemed) the voice rose up loud and clear and burst into
this song:
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
There my pretty lady is, River-woman’s daughter,
Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
Tom’s in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
Tom’s going home again water-lilies bringing.
Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?
Frodo and Sam stood as if enchanted. The wind puffed out. The
leaves hung silently again on stiff branches. There was another burst
of song, and then suddenly, hopping and dancing along the path,
there appeared above the reeds an old battered hat with a tall crown
and a long blue feather stuck in the band. With another hop and a
bound there came into view a man, or so it seemed. At any rate he
was too large and heavy for a hobbit, if not quite tall enough for one
of the Big People, though he made noise enough for one, stumping
along with great yellow boots on his thick legs, and charging through
grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink. He had a blue coat
and a long brown beard; his eyes were blue and bright, and his face
was red as a ripe apple, but creased into a hundred wrinkles of
laughter. In his hands he carried on a large leaf as on a tray a small
pile of white water-lilies.
‘Help!’ cried Frodo and Sam running towards him with their hands
stretched out.
I20 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Whoa! Whoa! steady there!’ cried the old man, holding up one
hand, and they stopped short, as if they had been struck stiff. ‘Now,
my little fellows, where be you a-going to, puffing like a bellows?
What’s the matter here then? Do you know who I am? ’m Tom
Bombadil. Tell me what’s your trouble! Tom’s in a hurry now. Don’t
you crush my lilies!’
‘My friends are caught in the willow-tree,’ cried Frodo breathlessly.
‘Master Merry’s being squeezed in a crack!’ cried Sam.
‘What?’ shouted Tom Bombadil, leaping up in the air. ‘Old Man
Willow? Naught worse than that, eh? That can soon be mended. I
know the tune for him. Old grey Willow-man! Ill freeze his marrow
cold, if he don’t behave himself. I'll sing his roots off. Pll sing a wind
up and blow leaf and branch away. Old Man Willow!’
Setting down his lilies carefully on the grass, he ran to the tree.
There he saw Merry’s feet still sticking out — the rest had already
been drawn further inside. Tom put his mouth to the crack and
began singing into it in a low voice. They could not catch the
words, but evidently Merry was aroused. His legs began to kick. Tom
sprang away, and breaking off a hanging branch smote the side of
the willow with it. “You let them out again, Old Man Willow!’ he
said. ‘What be you a-thinking of? You should not be waking. Eat
earth! Dig deep! Drink water! Go to sleep! Bombadil is talking!’ He
then seized Merry’s feet and drew him out of the suddenly widening
crack.
There was a tearing creak and the other crack split open, and out
of it Pippin sprang, as if he had been kicked. Then with a loud snap
both cracks closed fast again. A shudder ran through the tree from
root to tip, and complete silence fell.
“Thank you!’ said the hobbits, one after the other.
Tom Bombadil burst out laughing. ‘Well, my little fellows!’ said
he, stooping so that he peered into their faces. “You shall come home
with me! The table is all laden with yellow cream, honeycomb, and
white bread and butter. Goldberry is waiting. Time enough for ques-
tions around the supper table. You follow after me as quick as you
are able!’ With that he picked up his lilies, and then with a beckoning
wave of his hand went hopping and dancing along the path eastward,
still singing loudly and nonsensically.
Too surprised and too relieved to talk, the hobbits followed after
him as fast as they could. But that was not fast enough. Tom soon
disappeared in front of them, and the noise of his singing got fainter
and further away. Suddenly his voice came floating back to them in
a loud halloo!
THE OLD FOREST I2I
Hop along, my little friends, up the Withywindle!
Tom’s going on ahead candles for to kindle.
Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping.
When the nght-shadows fall, then the door will open,
Out of the window-panes light will twinkle yellow.
Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!
Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you.
Hey now! merry dol! We'll be waiting for you!
After that the hobbits heard no more. Almost at once the sun
seemed to sink into the trees behind them. They thought of the
slanting light of evening glittering on the Brandywine River, and the
windows of Bucklebury beginning to gleam with hundreds of lights.
Great shadows fell across them; trunks and branches of trees hung
dark and threatening over the path. White mists began to rise and
curl on the surface of the river and stray about the roots of the trees
upon its borders. Out of the very ground at their feet a shadowy
steam arose and mingled with the swiftly falling dusk.
It became difficult to follow the path, and they were very tired.
Their legs seemed leaden. Strange furtive noises ran among the
bushes and reeds on either side of them; and if they looked up to
the pale sky, they caught sight of queer gnarled and knobbly faces
that gloomed dark against the twilight, and leered down at them from
the high bank and the edges of the wood. They began to feel that all
this country was unreal, and that they were stumbling through an
ominous dream that led to no awakening.
Just as they felt their feet slowing down to a standstill, they noticed
that the ground was gently rising. The water began to murmur. In
the darkness they caught the white glimmer of foam, where the river
flowed over a short fall. Then suddenly the trees came to an end and
the mists were left behind. They stepped out from the Forest, and
found a wide sweep of grass welling up before them. The river, now
small and swift, was leaping merrily down to meet them, glinting
here and there in the light of the stars, which were already shining
in the sky.
The grass under their feet was smooth and short, as if it had been
mown or shaven. The eaves of the Forest behind were clipped, and
trim as a hedge. The path was now plain before them, well-tended
and bordered with stone. It wound up on to the top of a grassy knoll,
now grey under the pale starry night; and there, still high above them
on a further slope, they saw the twinkling lights of a house. Down
again the path went, and then up again, up a long smooth hillside
of turf, towards the light. Suddenly a wide yellow beam flowed out
brightly from a door that was opened. There was Tom Bombadil’s
I22 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
house before them, up, down, under hill. Behind it a steep shoulder
of the land lay grey and bare, and beyond that the dark shapes of
the Barrow-downs stalked away into the eastern night.
They all hurried forward, hobbits and ponies. Already half their
weariness and all their fears had fallen from them. Hey! Come merry
dol! rolled out the song to greet them.
Hey! Come derry dol! Hop along, my hearties!
Hobbits! Ponies all! We are fond of parties.
Now let the fun begin! Let us sing together!
Then another clear voice, as young and as ancient as Spring, like
the song of a glad water flowing down into the night from a bright
morning in the hills, came falling like silver to meet them:
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather,
Light on the budding leaf, dew on the feather,
Wind on the open hill, bells on the heather,
Reeds by the shady pool, lilies on the water:
Old Tom Bombadil and the River-daughter!
And with that song the hobbits stood upon the threshold, and a
golden light was all about them.
Chapter 7
IN THE HOUSE OF
TOM BOMBADIL
The four hobbits stepped over the wide stone threshold, and stood
still, blinking. They were in a long low room, filled with the light of
lamps swinging from the beams of the roof; and on the table of dark
polished wood stood many candles, tall and yellow, burning brightly.
In a chair, at the far side of the room facing the outer door, sat a
woman. Her long yellow hair rippled down her shoulders; her gown
was green, green as young reeds, shot with silver like beads of dew;
and her belt was of gold, shaped like a chain of flag-lilies set with
the pale-blue eyes of forget-me-nots. About her feet in wide vessels
of green and brown earthenware, white water-lilies were floating, so
that she seemed to be enthroned in the midst of a pool.
‘Enter, good guests!’ she said, and as she spoke they knew that it
was her clear voice they had heard singing. They came a few timid
steps further into the room, and began to bow low, feeling strangely
surprised and awkward, like folk that, knocking at a cottage door to
beg for a drink of water, have been answered by a fair young elf-queen
clad in living flowers. But before they could say anything, she sprang
lightly up and over the lily-bowls, and ran laughing towards them;
and as she ran her gown rustled softly like the wind in the flowering
borders of a river.
‘Come dear folk!’ she said, taking Frodo by the hand. ‘Laugh and
be merry! I am Goldberry, daughter of the River.’ Then lightly she
passed them and closing the door she turned her back to it, with her
white arms spread out across it. ‘Let us shut out the night!’ she said.
‘For you are still afraid, perhaps, of mist and tree-shadows and deep
water, and untame things. Fear nothing! For tonight you are under
the roof of Tom Bombadil.’
The hobbits looked at her in wonder; and she looked at each of
them and smiled. ‘Fair lady Goldberry!’ said Frodo at last, feeling
his heart moved with a joy that he did not understand. He stood as
he had at times stood enchanted by fair elven-voices; but the spell
that was now laid upon him was different: less keen and lofty was
the delight, but deeper and nearer to mortal heart; marvellous and
yet not strange. ‘Fair lady Goldberry!’ he said again. ‘Now the joy
that was hidden in the songs we heard is made plain to me.
I24 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
O slender as a willow-wand! O clearer than clear water!
O reed by the living pool! Fair River-daughter!
O spring-time and summer-time, and spring again after!
O wind on the waterfall, and the leaves’ laughter!’
Suddenly he stopped and stammered, overcome with surprise to hear
himself saying such things. But Goldberry laughed.
‘Welcome!’ she said. ‘I had not heard that folk of the Shire were
so sweet-tongued. But I see that you are an Elf-friend; the light in
your eyes and the ring in your voice tells it. This is a merry meeting!
Sit now, and wait for the Master of the house! He will not be long.
He is tending your tired beasts.’
The hobbits sat down gladly in low rush-seated chairs, while Gold-
berry busied herself about the table; and their eyes followed her, for
the slender grace of her movement filled them with quiet delight.
From somewhere behind the house came the sound of singing. Every
now and again they caught, among many a derry dol and a merry dol
and a ring a ding dillo the repeated words:
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket 1s, and his boots are yellow.
‘Fair lady!’ said Frodo again after a while. “Tell me, if my asking
does not seem foolish, who is Tom Bombadil?’
‘He is,’ said Goldberry, staying her swift movements and smiling.
Frodo looked at her questioningly. ‘He is, as you have seen him,’
she said in answer to his look. ‘He is the Master of wood, water, and
hill.’
“Then all this strange land belongs to him?’
‘No indeed!’ she answered, and her smile faded. “That would
indeed be a burden,’ she added in a low voice, as if to herself. “The
trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land
belong each to themselves. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one
has ever caught old Tom walking in the forest, wading in the water,
leaping on the hill-tops under light and shadow. He has no fear. Tom
Bombadil is master.’
A door opened and in came Tom Bombadil. He had now no hat
and his thick brown hair was crowned with autumn leaves. He
laughed, and going to Goldberry, took her hand.
‘Here’s my pretty lady!’ he said, bowing to the hobbits. ‘Here’s
my Goldberry clothed all in silver-green with flowers in her girdle!
Is the table laden? I see yellow cream and honeycomb, and white
bread, and butter; milk, cheese, and green herbs and ripe berries
gathered. Is that enough for us? Is the supper ready?’
IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL I25
‘It is,’ said Goldberry; ‘but the guests perhaps are not?’
Tom clapped his hands and cried: “Tom, Tom! your guests are
tired, and you had near forgotten! Come now, my merry friends, and
Tom will refresh you! You shall clean grimy hands, and wash your
weary faces; cast off your muddy cloaks and comb out your tangles!’
He opened the door, and they followed him down a short passage
and round a sharp turn. They came to a low room with a sloping
roof (a penthouse, it seemed, built on to the north end of the house).
Its walls were of clean stone, but they were mostly covered with green
hanging mats and yellow curtains. The floor was flagged, and strewn
with fresh green rushes. There were four deep mattresses, each piled
with white blankets, laid on the floor along one side. Against the
opposite wall was a long bench laden with wide earthenware basins,
and beside it stood brown ewers filled with water, some cold, some
steaming hot. There were soft green slippers set ready beside each
bed.
Before long, washed and refreshed, the hobbits were seated at the
table, two on each side, while at either end sat Goldberry and the
Master. It was a long and merry meal. Though the hobbits ate, as
only famished hobbits can eat, there was no lack. The drink in their
drinking-bowls seemed to be clear cold water, yet it went to their
hearts like wine and set free their voices. The guests became suddenly
aware that they were singing merrily, as if it was easier and more
natural than talking.
At last Tom and Goldberry rose and cleared the table swiftly. The
guests were commanded to sit quiet, and were set in chairs, each
with a footstool to his tired feet. There was a fire in the wide hearth
before them, and it was burning with a sweet smell, as if it were built
of apple-wood. When everything was set in order, all the lights in
the room were put out, except one lamp and a pair of candles at
each end of the chimney-shelf. Then Goldberry came and stood
before them, holding a candle; and she wished them each a good
night and deep sleep.
“Have peace now,’ she said, ‘until the morning! Heed no nightly
noises! For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight
and starlight and the wind off the hill-top. Good night!’ She passed
out of the room with a glimmer and a rustle. The sound of her
footsteps was like a stream falling gently away downhill over cool
stones in the quiet of night.
Tom sat on a while beside them in silence, while each of them
tried to muster the courage to ask one of the many questions he had
meant to ask at supper. Sleep gathered on their eyelids. At last Frodo
spoke:
126 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Did you hear me calling, Master, or was it just chance that brought
you at that moment?’
Tom stirred like a man shaken out of a pleasant dream. ‘Eh, what?’
said he. ‘Did I hear you calling? Nay, I did not hear: I was busy
singing. Just chance brought me then, if chance you call it. It was
no plan of mine, though I was waiting for you. We heard news of
you, and learned that you were wandering. We guessed you’d come
ere long down to the water: all paths lead that way, down to Withy-
windle. Old grey Willow-man, he’s a mighty singer; and it’s hard for
little folk to escape his cunning mazes. But Tom had an errand there,
that he dared not hinder.’ Tom nodded as if sleep was taking him
again; but he went on in a soft singing voice:
I had an errand there: gathering water-lilies,
green leaves and lilies white to please my pretty lady,
the last ere the year’s end to keep them from the winter,
to flower by her pretty feet till the snows are melted.
Each year at summer’s end I go to find them for her,
in a wide pool, deep and clear, far down Withywindle;
there they open first in spring and there they linger latest.
By that pool long ago I found the River-daughter,
fair young Goldberry sitting in the rushes.
Sweet was her singing then, and her heart was beating!
He opened his eyes and looked at them with a sudden glint of blue:
And that proved well for you — for now I shall no longer
go down deep again along the forest-water,
not while the year ts old. Nor shall I be passing
Old Man Willow’s house this side of spring-time,
not till the merry spring, when the River-daughter
dances down the withy-path to bathe in the water.
He fell silent again; but Frodo could not help asking one more
question: the one he most desired to have answered. “Tell us, Master,’
he said, ‘about the Willow-man. What is he? I have never heard of
him before.’
‘No, don’t!’ said Merry and Pippin together, sitting suddenly
upright. ‘Not now! Not until the morning!’
“That is right!’ said the old man. ‘Now is the time for resting.
Some things are ill to hear when the world’s in shadow. Sleep till the
morning-light, rest on the pillow! Heed no nightly noise! Fear no
grey willow!’ And with that he took down the lamp and blew it out,
and grasping a candle in either hand he led them out of the room.
IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL I27
Their mattresses and pillows were soft as down, and the blankets
were of white wool. They had hardly laid themselves on the deep
beds and drawn the light covers over them before they were asleep.
In the dead night, Frodo lay in a dream without light. Then he
saw the young moon rising; under its thin light there loomed before
him a black wall of rock, pierced by a dark arch like a great gate. It
seemed to Frodo that he was lifted up, and passing over he saw that
the rock-wall was a circle of hills, and that within it was a plain, and
in the midst of the plain stood a pinnacle of stone, like a vast tower
but not made by hands. On its top stood the figure of a man. The
moon as it rose seemed to hang for a moment above his head and
glistened in his white hair as the wind stirred it. Up from the dark
plain below came the crying of fell voices, and the howling of many
wolves. Suddenly a shadow, like the shape of great wings, passed
across the moon. The figure lifted his arms and a light flashed from
the staff that he wielded. A mighty eagle swept down and bore him
away. The voices wailed and the wolves yammered. There was a
noise like a strong wind blowing, and on it was borne the sound of
hoofs, galloping, galloping, galloping from the East. ‘Black Riders!’
thought Frodo as he wakened, with the sound of the hoofs still echo-
ing in his mind. He wondered if he would ever again have the courage
to leave the safety of these stone walls. He lay motionless, still listen-
ing; but all was now silent, and at last he turned and fell asleep again
or wandered into some other unremembered dream.
At his side Pippin lay dreaming pleasantly; but a change came
over his dreams and he turned and groaned. Suddenly he woke, or
thought he had waked, and yet still heard in the darkness the sound
that had disturbed his dream: tip-tap, squeak: the noise was like
branches fretting in the wind, twig-fingers scraping wall and window:
creak, creak, creak. He wondered if there were willow-trees close to
the house; and then suddenly he had a dreadful feeling that he was
not in an ordinary house at all, but inside the willow and listening
to that horrible dry creaking voice laughing at him again. He sat up,
and felt the soft pillows yield to his hands, and he lay down again
relieved. He seemed to hear the echo of words in his ears: ‘Fear
nothing! Have peace until the morning! Heed no nightly noises!’
Then he went to sleep again.
It was the sound of water that Merry heard falling into his quiet
sleep: water streaming down gently, and then spreading, spreading
irresistibly all round the house into a dark shoreless pool. It gurgled
under the walls, and was rising slowly but surely. ‘I shall be drowned!’
he thought. ‘It will find its way in, and then I shall drown.’ He felt
that he was lying in a soft slimy bog, and springing up he set his foot
128 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
on the corner of a cold hard flagstone. Then he remembered where
he was and lay down again. He seemed to hear or remember hearing:
‘Nothing passes doors or windows save moonlight and starlight and
the wind off the hill-top.’ A little breath of sweet air moved the
curtain. He breathed deep and fell asleep again.
As far as he could remember, Sam slept through the night in deep
content, if logs are contented.
They woke up, all four at once, in the morning light. , Tom was
moving about the room whistling like a starling. When he heard them
stir he clapped his hands, and cried: ‘Hey! Come merry dol! derry
dol! My hearties!’ He drew back the yellow curtains, and the hobbits
saw that these had covered the windows, at either end of the room,
one looking east and the other looking west.
They leapt up refreshed. Frodo ran to the eastern window, and
found himself looking into a kitchen-garden grey with dew. He had
half expected to see turf right up to the walls, turf all pocked with
hoof-prints. Actually his view was screened by a tall line of beans on
poles; but above and far beyond them the grey top of the hill loomed
up against the sunrise. It was a pale morning: in the East, behind
long clouds like lines of soiled wool stained red at the edges, lay
glimmering deeps of yellow. The sky spoke of rain to come; but the
light was broadening quickly, and the red flowers on the beans began
to glow against the wet green leaves.
Pippin looked out of the western window, down into a pool of
mist. The Forest was hidden under a fog. It was like looking down
on to a sloping cloud-roof from above. There was a fold or channel
where the mist was broken into many plumes and billows: the valley
of the Withywindle. The stream ran down the hill on the left and
vanished into the white shadows. Near at hand was a flower-garden
and a clipped hedge silver-netted, and beyond that grey shaven grass
pale with dew-drops. There was no willow-tree to be seen.
‘Good morning, merry friends!’ cried Tom, opening the eastern
window wide. A cool air flowed in; it had a rainy smell. ‘Sun won’t
show her face much today, I’m thinking. I have been walking wide,
leaping on the hill-tops, since the grey dawn began, nosing wind and
weather, wet grass underfoot, wet sky above me. I wakened Goldberry
singing under window; but naught wakes hobbit-folk in the early
morning. In the night little folk wake up in the darkness, and sleep
after light has come! Ring a ding dillo! Wake now, my merry friends!
Forget the nightly noises! Ring a ding dillo del! derry del, my hearties!
If you come soon you'll find breakfast on the table. If you come late
you'll get grass and rain-water!’
Needless to say — not that Tom’s threat sounded very serious —
IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL 129
the hobbits came soon, and left the table late and only when it was
beginning to look rather empty. Neither Tom nor Goldberry were
there. Tom could be heard about the house, clattering in the kitchen,
and up and down the stairs, and singing here and there outside. The
room looked westward over the mist-clouded valley, and the window
was open. Water dripped down from the thatched eaves above. Before
they had finished breakfast the clouds had joined into an unbroken
roof, and a straight grey rain came softly and steadily down. Behind
its deep curtain the Forest was completely veiled.
As they looked out of the window there came falling gently as if
it was flowing down the rain out of the sky, the clear voice of Gold-
berry singing up above them. They could hear few words, but it
seemed plain to them that the song was a rain-song, as sweet as
showers on dry hills, that told the tale of a river from the spring in
the highlands to the Sea far below. The hobbits listened with delight;
and Frodo was glad in his heart, and blessed the kindly weather,
because it delayed them from departing. The thought of going had
been heavy upon him from the moment he awoke; but he guessed
now that they would not go further that day.
The upper wind settled in the West and deeper and wetter clouds
rolled up to spill their laden rain on the bare heads of the Downs.
Nothing could be seen all round the house but falling water. Frodo
stood near the open door and watched the white chalky path turn
into a little river of milk and go bubbling away down into the valley.
Tom Bombadil came trotting round the corner of the house, waving
his arms as if he was warding off the rain — and indeed when he
sprang over the threshold he seemed quite dry, except for his boots.
These he took off and put in the chimney-corner. Then he sat in the
largest chair and called the hobbits to gather round him.
‘This is Goldberry’s washing day,’ he said, ‘and her autumn-
cleaning. Too wet for hobbit-folk — let them rest while they are able!
It’s a good day for long tales, for questions and for answers, so Tom
will start the talking.’
He then told them many remarkable stories, sometimes half as if
speaking to himself, sometimes looking at them suddenly with a
bright blue eye under his deep brows. Often his voice would turn to
song, and he would get out of his chair and dance about. He told
them tales of bees and flowers, the ways of trees, and the strange
creatures of the Forest, about the evil things and good things, things
friendly and things unfriendly, cruel things and kind things, and
secrets hidden under brambles.
As they listened, they began to understand the lives of the Forest,
apart from themselves, indeed to feel themselves as the strangers
130 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
where all other things were at home. Moving constantly in and out
of his talk was Old Man Willow, and Frodo learned now enough to
content him, indeed more than enough, for it was not comfortable
lore. Tom’s words laid bare the hearts of trees and their thoughts,
which were often dark and strange, and filled with a hatred of things
that go free upon the earth, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burn-
ing: destroyers and usurpers. It was not called the Old Forest without
reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of vast forgotten woods;
and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers
of the fathers of trees, remembering times when they were lords. The
countless years had filled them with pride and rooted wisdom, and
with malice. But none were more dangerous than the Great Willow:
his heart was rotten, but his strength was green; and he was cunning,
and a master of winds, and his song and thought ran through the
woods on both sides of the river. His grey thirsty spirit drew power
out of the earth and spread like fine root-threads in the ground, and
invisible twig-fingers in the air, till it had under its dominion nearly
all the trees of the Forest from the Hedge to the Downs.
Suddenly Tom’s talk left the woods and went leaping up the young
stream, over bubbling waterfalls, over pebbles and worn rocks, and
among small flowers in close grass and wet crannies, wandering at
last up on to the Downs. They heard of the Great Barrows, and the
green mounds, and the stone-rings upon the hills and in the hollows
among the hills. Sheep were bleating in flocks. Green walls and white
walls rose. There were fortresses on the heights. Kings of little king-
doms fought together, and the young Sun shone like fire on the red
metal of their new and greedy swords. There was victory and defeat;
and towers fell, fortresses were burned, and flames went up into the
sky. Gold was piled on the biers of dead kings and queens; and
mounds covered them, and the stone doors were shut; and the grass
grew over all. Sheep walked for a while biting the grass, but soon the
hills were empty again. A shadow came out of dark places far away,
and the bones were stirred in the mounds. Barrow-wights walked in
the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains
in the wind. Stone rings grinned out of the ground like broken teeth
in the moonlight.
The hobbits shuddered. Even in the Shire the rumour of the
Barrow-wights of the Barrow-downs beyond the Forest had been
heard. But it was not a tale that any hobbit liked to listen to, even
by a comfortable fireside far away. These four now suddenly re-
membered what the joy of this house had driven from their minds:
the house of Tom Bombadil nestled under the very shoulder of those
dreaded hills. They lost the thread of his tale and shifted uneasily,
looking aside at one another.
IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL I3I
When they caught his words again they found that he had now
wandered into strange regions beyond their memory and beyond their
waking thought, into times when the world was wider, and the seas
flowed straight to the western Shore; and still on and back Tom went
singing out into ancient starlight, when only the Elf-sires were awake.
Then suddenly he stopped, and they saw that he nodded as if he was
falling asleep. The hobbits sat still before him, enchanted; and it
seemed as if, under the spell of his words, the wind had gone, and
the clouds had dried up, and the day had been withdrawn, and
darkness had come from East and West, and all the sky was filled
with the light of white stars.
Whether the morning and evening of one day or of many days
had passed Frodo could not tell. He did not feel either hungry or
tired, only filled with wonder. The stars shone through the window
and the silence of the heavens seemed to be round him. He spoke
at last out of his wonder and a sudden fear of that silence:
‘Who are you, Master?’ he asked.
‘Eh, what?’ said Tom sitting up, and his eyes glinting in the gloom.
‘Don’t you know my name yet? That’s the only answer. Tell me,
who are you, alone, yourself and nameless? But you are young and
Tam old. Eldest, that’s what I am. Mark my words, my friends: Tom
was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first
raindrop and the first acorn. He made paths before the Big People,
and saw the little People arriving. He was here before the Kings and
the graves and the Barrow-wights. When the Elves passed westward,
Tom was here already, before the seas were bent. He knew the dark
under the stars when it was fearless — before the Dark Lord came
from Outside.’
A shadow seemed to pass by the window, and the hobbits glanced
hastily through the panes. When they turned again, Goldberry stood
in the door behind, framed in light. She held a candle, shielding its
flame from the draught with her hand; and the light flowed through
it, like sunlight through a white shell.
“The rain has ended,’ she said; ‘and new waters are running down-
hill, under the stars. Let us now laugh and be glad!’
‘And let us have food and drink!’ cried Tom. ‘Long tales are thirsty.
And long listening’s hungry work, morning, noon, and evening!’ With
that he jumped out of his chair, and with a bound took a candle from
the chimney-shelf and lit it in the flame that Goldberry held; then
he danced about the table. Suddenly he hopped through the door
and disappeared.
Quickly he returned, bearing a large and laden tray. Then Tom
and Goldberry set the table; and the hobbits sat half in wonder and
half in laughter: so fair was the grace of Goldberry and so merry and
132 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
odd the caperings of Tom. Yet in some fashion they seemed to weave
a single dance, neither hindering the other, in and out of the room,
and round about the table; and with great speed food and vessels and
lights were set in order. The boards blazed with candles, white and
yellow. Tom bowed to his guests. ‘Supper is ready,’ said Goldberry;
and now the hobbits saw that she was clothed all in silver with a
white girdle, and her shoes were like fishes’ mail. But Tom was all
in clean blue, blue as rain-washed forget-me-nots, and he had green
stockings.
It was a supper even better than before. The hobbits under the
spell of Tom’s words may have missed one meal or many, but when
the food was before them it seemed at least a week since they had
eaten. They did not sing or even speak much for a while, and paid
close attention to business. But after a time their hearts and spirits
rose high again, and their voices rang out in mirth and laughter.
After they had eaten, Goldberry sang many songs for them, songs
that began merrily in the hills and fell softly down into silence; and
in the silences they saw in their minds pools and waters wider than
any they had known, and looking into them they saw the sky below
them and the stars like jewels in the depths. Then once more she
wished them each good night and left them by the fireside. But Tom
now seemed wide awake and plied them with questions.
He appeared already to know much about them and all their
families, and indeed to know much of all the history and doings of
the Shire down from days hardly remembered among the hobbits
themselves. It no longer surprised them; but he made no secret that
he owed his recent knowledge largely to Farmer Maggot, whom he
seemed to regard as a person of more importance than they had
imagined. “There’s earth under his old feet, and clay on his fingers;
wisdom in his bones, and both his eyes are open,’ said Tom. It was
also clear that Tom had dealings with the Elves, and it seemed that
in some fashion, news had reached him from Gildor concerning the
flight of Frodo.
Indeed so much did Tom know, and so cunning was his question-
ing, that Frodo found himself telling him more about Bilbo and his
own hopes and fears than he had told before even to Gandalf. Tom
wagged his head up and down, and there was a glint in his eyes when
he heard of the Riders.
‘Show me the precious Ring!’ he said suddenly in the midst of the
story: and Frodo, to his own astonishment, drew out the chain from
his pocket, and unfastening the Ring handed it at once to Tom.
It seemed to grow larger as it lay for a moment on his big brown-
skinned hand. Then suddenly he put it to his eye and laughed. For
IN THE HOUSE OF TOM BOMBADIL 133
a second the hobbits had a vision, both comical and alarming, of his
bright blue eye gleaming through a circle of gold. Then Tom put the
Ring round the end of his little finger and held it up to the candlelight.
For a moment the hobbits noticed nothing strange about this. Then
they gasped. There was no sign of Tom disappearing!
Tom laughed again, and then he spun the Ring in the air — and
it vanished with a flash. Frodo gave a cry — and Tom leaned forward
and handed it back to him with a smile.
Frodo looked at it closely, and rather suspiciously (like one who
has lent a trinket to a juggler). It was the same Ring, or looked the
same and weighed the same: for that Ring had always seemed to
Frodo to weigh strangely heavy in the hand. But something prompted
him to make sure. He was perhaps a trifle annoyed with Tom for
seeming to make so light of what even Gandalf thought so perilously
important. He waited for an opportunity, when the talk was going
again, and Tom was telling an absurd story about badgers and their
queer ways — then he slipped the Ring on.
Merry turned towards him to say something and gave a start, and
checked an exclamation. Frodo was delighted (in a way): it was his
own ring all right, for Merry was staring blankly at his chair, and
obviously could not see him. He got up and crept quietly away from
the fireside towards the outer door.
‘Hey there!’ cried Tom, glancing towards him with a most seeing
look in his shining eyes. ‘Hey! Come Frodo, there! Where be you
a-going? Old Tom Bombadil’s not as blind as that yet. Take off your
golden ring! Your hand’s more fair without it. Come back! Leave
your game and sit down beside me! We must talk a while more, and
think about the morning. Tom must teach the right road, and keep
your feet from wandering.’
Frodo laughed (trying to feel pleased), and taking off the Ring he
came and sat down again. Tom now told them that he reckoned the
Sun would shine tomorrow, and it would be a glad morning, and
setting out would be hopeful. But they would do well to start early;
for weather in that country was a thing that even Tom could not be
sure of for long, and it would change sometimes quicker than he
could change his jacket. ‘I am no weather-master,’ said he; ‘nor is
aught that goes on two legs.’
By his advice they decided to make nearly due North from his
house, over the western and lower slopes of the Downs: they might
hope in that way to strike the East Road in a day’s journey, and avoid
the Barrows. He told them not to be afraid — but to mind their own
business.
‘Keep to the green grass. Don’t you go a-meddling with old stone
or cold Wights or prying in their houses, unless you be strong folk
134 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
with hearts that never falter!’ He said this more than once; and he
advised them to pass barrows by on the west-side, if they chanced
to stray near one. Then he taught them a rhyme to sing, if they
should by ill-luck fall into any danger or difficulty the next day.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
When they had sung this altogether after him, he clapped them
each on the shoulder with a laugh, and taking candles led them back
to their bedroom.
Chapter 8
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS
That night they heard no noises. But either in his dreams or out of
them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running
in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a
grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass
and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country
opened before him under a swift sunrise.
The vision melted into waking; and there was Tom whistling like
a tree-full of birds; and the sun was already slanting down the hill
and through the open window. Outside everything was green and
pale gold.
After breakfast, which they again ate alone, they made ready to
say farewell, as nearly heavy of heart as was possible on such a morn-
ing: cool, bright, and clean under a washed autumn sky of thin blue.
The air came fresh from the North-west. Their quiet ponies were
almost frisky, sniffing and moving restlessly. Tom came out of the
house and waved his hat and danced upon the doorstep, bidding the
hobbits to get up and be off and go with good speed.
They rode off along a path that wound away from behind the
house, and went slanting up towards the north end of the hill-brow
under which it sheltered. They had just dismounted to lead their
ponies up the last steep slope, when suddenly Frodo stopped.
‘Goldberry!’ he cried. ‘My fair lady, clad all in silver green! We
have never said farewell to her, nor seen her since the evening!’ He
was so distressed that he turned back; but at that moment a clear
call came rippling down. There on the hill-brow she stood beckoning
to them: her hair was flying loose, and as it caught the sun it shone
and shimmered. A light like the glint of water on dewy grass flashed
from under her feet as she danced.
They hastened up the last slope, and stood breathless beside her.
They bowed, but with a wave of her arm she bade them look round;
and they looked out from the hill-top over lands under the morning.
It was now as clear and far-seen as it had been veiled and misty when
they stood upon the knoll in the Forest, which could now be seen
rising pale and green out of the dark trees in the West. In that
direction the land rose in wooded ridges, green, yellow, russet under
the sun, beyond which lay hidden the valley of the Brandywine. To
the South, over the line of the Withywindle, there was a distant glint
like pale glass where the Brandywine River made a great loop in
136 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
the lowlands and flowed away out of the knowledge of the hobbits.
Northward beyond the dwindling downs the land ran away in flats
and swellings of grey and green and pale earth-colours, until it faded
into a featureless and shadowy distance. Eastward the Barrow-downs
rose, ridge behind ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eye-
sight into a guess: it was no more than a guess of blue and a remote
white glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to
them, out of memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains.
They took a deep draught of the air, and felt that a skip and a
few stout strides would bear them wherever they wished. It seemed
fainthearted to go jogging aside over the crumpled skirts of the downs
towards the Road, when they should be leaping, as lusty as Tom,
over the stepping stones of the hills straight towards the Mountains.
Goldberry spoke to them and recalled their eyes and thoughts.
‘Speed now, fair guests!’ she said. ‘And hold to your purpose! North
with the wind in the left eye and a blessing on your footsteps! Make
haste while the Sun shines!’ And to Frodo she said: ‘Farewell, Elf-
friend, it was a merry meeting!’
But Frodo found no words to answer. He bowed low, and mounted
his pony, and followed by his friends jogged slowly down the gentle
slope behind the hill. Tom Bombadil’s house and the valley, and the
Forest were lost to view. The air grew warmer between the green
walls of hillside and hillside, and the scent of turf rose strong and
sweet as they breathed. Turning back, when they reached the bottom
of the green hollow, they saw Goldberry, now small and slender like
a sunlit flower against the sky: she was standing still watching them,
and her hands were stretched out towards them. As they looked she
gave a clear call, and lifting up her hand she turned and vanished
behind the hill.
Their way wound along the floor of the hollow, and round the
green feet of a steep hill into another deeper and broader valley, and
then over the shoulders of further hills, and down their long limbs,
and up their smooth sides again, up on to new hill-tops and down
into new valleys. There was no tree nor any visible water: it was a
country of grass and short springy turf, silent except for the whisper
of the air over the edges of the land, and high lonely cries of strange
birds. As they journeyed the sun mounted, and grew hot. Each time
they climbed a ridge the breeze seemed to have grown less. When
they caught a glimpse of the country westward the distant Forest
seemed to be smoking, as if the fallen rain was steaming up again
from leaf and root and mould. A shadow now lay round the edge of
sight, a dark haze above which the upper sky was like a blue cap, hot
and heavy.
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS 137
About mid-day they came to a hill whose top was wide and flat-
tened, like a shallow saucer with a green mounded rim. Inside there
was no air stirring, and the sky seemed near their heads. They rode
across and looked northwards. Then their hearts rose; for it seemed
plain that they had come further already than they had expected.
Certainly the distances had now all become hazy and deceptive, but
there could be no doubt that the Downs were coming to an end. A
long valley lay below them winding away northwards, until it came
to an opening between two steep shoulders. Beyond, there seemed
to be no more hills. Due north they faintly glimpsed a long dark line.
“That is a line of trees,’ said Merry, ‘and that must mark the Road.
All along it for many leagues east of the Bridge there are trees growing.
Some say they were planted in the old days.’
‘Splendid!’ said Frodo. ‘If we make as good going this afternoon
as we have done this morning, we shall have left the Downs before
the Sun sets and be jogging on in search of a camping place.’ But
even as he spoke he turned his glance eastwards, and he saw that on
that side the hills were higher and looked down upon them; and all
those hills were crowned with green mounds, and on some were
standing stones, pointing upwards like jagged teeth out of green gums.
That view was somehow disquieting; so they turned from the sight
and went down into the hollow circle. In the midst of it there stood
a single stone, standing tall under the sun above, and at this hour
casting no shadow. It was shapeless and yet significant: like a land-
mark, or a guarding finger, or more like a warning. But they were
now hungry, and the sun was still at the fearless noon; so they set
their backs against the east side of the stone. It was cool, as if the
sun had had no power to warm it; but at that time this seemed
pleasant. There they took food and drink, and made as good a noon-
meal under the open sky as anyone could wish; for the food came
from ‘down under Hill’. Tom had provided them with plenty for the
comfort of the day. Their ponies unburdened strayed upon the grass.
Riding over the hills, and eating their fill, the warm sun and the
scent of turf, lying a little too long, stretching out their legs and
looking at the sky above their noses: these things are, perhaps, enough
to explain what happened. However that may be: they woke suddenly
and uncomfortably from a sleep they had never meant to take. The
standing stone was cold, and it cast a long pale shadow that stretched
eastward over them. The sun, a pale and watery yellow, was gleaming
through the mist just above the west wall of the hollow in which they
lay; north, south, and east, beyond the wall the fog was thick, cold
and white. The air was silent, heavy and chill. Their ponies were
standing crowded together with their heads down.
138 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The hobbits sprang to their feet in alarm, and ran to the western
rim. They found that they were upon an island in the fog. Even as
they looked out in dismay towards the setting sun, it sank before
their eyes into a white sea, and a cold grey shadow sprang up in the
East behind. The fog rolled up to the walls and rose above them,
and as it mounted it bent over their heads until it became a roof:
they were shut in a hall of mist whose central pillar was the standing
stone.
They felt as if a trap was closing about them; but they did not
quite lose heart. They still remembered the hopeful view they had
had of the line of the Road ahead, and they still knew in which
direction it lay. In any case, they now had so great a dislike for that
hollow place about the stone that no thought of remaining there was
in their minds. They packed up as quickly as their chilled fingers
would work.
Soon they were leading their ponies in single file over the rim and
down the long northward slope of the hill, down into a foggy sea. As
they went down the mist became colder and damper, and their hair
hung lank and dripping on their foreheads. When they reached the
bottom it was so chill that they halted and got out cloaks and hoods,
which soon became bedewed with grey drops. Then, mounting their
ponies, they went slowly on again, feeling their way by the rise and
fall of the ground. They were steering, as well as they could guess,
for the gate-like opening at the far northward end of the long valley
which they had seen in the morning. Once they were through the
gap, they had only to keep on in anything like a straight line and they
were bound in the end to strike the Road. Their thoughts did not go
beyond that, except for a vague hope that perhaps away beyond the
Downs there might be no fog.
Their going was very slow. To prevent their getting separated and
wandering in different directions they went in file, with Frodo leading.
Sam was behind him, and after him came Pippin, and then Merry.
The valley seemed to stretch on endlessly. Suddenly Frodo saw a
hopeful sign. On either side ahead a darkness began to loom through
the mist; and he guessed that they were at last approaching the gap
in the hills, the north-gate of the Barrow-downs. If they could pass
that, they would be free.
‘Come on! Follow me!’ he called back over his shoulder, and he
hurried forward. But his hope soon changed to bewilderment and
alarm. The dark patches grew darker, but they shrank; and suddenly
he saw, towering ominous before him and leaning slightly towards
one another like the pillars of a headless door, two huge standing
stones. He could not remember having seen any sign of these in the
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS 139
valley, when he looked out from the hill in the morning. He had
passed between them almost before he was aware: and even as he
did so darkness seemed to fall round him. His pony reared and
snorted, and he fell off. When he looked back he found that he was
alone: the others had not followed him.
‘Sam!’ he called. ‘Pippin! Merry! Come along! Why don’t you
keep up?’
There was no answer. Fear took him, and he ran back past the
stones shouting wildly: ‘Sam! Sam! Merry! Pippin!’ The pony bolted
into the mist and vanished. From some way off, or so it seemed, he
thought he heard a cry: ‘Hoy! Frodo! Hoy!’ It was away eastward,
on his left as he stood under the great stones, staring and straining
into the gloom. He plunged off in the direction of the call, and found
himself going steeply uphill.
As he struggled on he called again, and kept on calling more and
more frantically; but he heard no answer for some time, and then it
seemed faint and far ahead and high above him. ‘Frodo! Hoy!’ came
the thin voices out of the mist: and then a cry that sounded like help,
help! often repeated, ending with a last help! that trailed off into a
long wail suddenly cut short. He stumbled forward with all the speed
he could towards the cries; but the light was now gone, and clinging
night had closed about him, so that it was impossible to be sure of
any direction. He seemed all the time to be climbing up and up.
Only the change in the level of the ground at his feet told him
when he at last came to the top of a ridge or hill. He was weary,
sweating and yet chilled. It was wholly dark.
‘Where are you?’ he cried out miserably.
There was no reply. He stood listening. He was suddenly aware
that it was getting very cold, and that up here a wind was beginning
to blow, an icy wind. A change was coming in the weather. The mist
was flowing past him now in shreds and tatters. His breath was
smoking, and the darkness was less near and thick. He looked up
and saw with surprise that faint stars were appearing overhead amid
the strands of hurrying cloud and fog. The wind began to hiss over
the grass.
He imagined suddenly that he caught a muffled cry, and he made
towards it; and even as he went forward the mist was rolled up and
thrust aside, and the starry sky was unveiled. A glance showed him
that he was now facing southwards and was on a round hill-top,
which he must have climbed from the north. Out of the east the
biting wind was blowing. To his right there loomed against the west-
ward stars a dark black shape. A great barrow stood there.
‘Where are you?’ he cried again, both angry and afraid.
I40 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Here!’ said a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of
the ground. ‘I am waiting for you!’
‘No!’ said Frodo; but he did not run away. His knees gave, and
he fell on the ground. Nothing happened, and there was no sound.
Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow
against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes,
very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some
remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized
him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.
When he came to himself again, for a moment he could recall
nothing except a sense of dread. Then suddenly he knew that he was
imprisoned, caught hopelessly; he was in a barrow. A Barrow-wight
had taken him, and he was probably already under the dreadful spells
of the Barrow-wights about which whispered tales spoke. He dared
not move, but lay as he found himself: flat on his back upon a cold
stone with his hands on his breast.
But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the
very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking
about Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together
in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures.
There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the
heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and
desperate danger to make it grow. Frodo was neither very fat nor
very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf)
had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire. He thought he had
come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought
hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring;
he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey.
As he lay there, thinking and getting a hold of himself, he noticed
all at once that the darkness was slowly giving way: a pale greenish
light was growing round him. It did not at first show him what kind
of a place he was in, for the light seemed to be coming out of himself,
and from the floor beside him, and had not yet reached the roof or
wall. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw lying beside him
Sam, Pippin, and Merry. They were on their backs, and their faces
looked deathly pale; and they were clad in white. About them lay
many treasures, of gold maybe, though in that light they looked cold
and unlovely. On their heads were circlets, gold chains were about
their waists, and on their fingers were many rings. Swords lay by
their sides, and shields were at their feet. But across their three necks
lay one long naked sword.
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS I4I
Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The
voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in
the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Out
of the formless stream of sad but horrible sounds, strings of words
would now and again shape themselves: grim, hard, cold words,
heartless and miserable. The night was railing against the morning
of which it was bereaved, and the cold was cursing the warmth for
which it hungered. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while
the song became clearer, and with dread in his heart he perceived
that it had changed into an incantation:
Cold be hand and heart and bone,
and cold be sleep under stone:
never more to wake on stony bed,
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon ts dead.
In the black wind the stars shall die,
and still on gold here let them lie,
till the dark lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land.
He heard behind his head a creaking and scraping sound. Raising
himself on one arm he looked, and saw now in the pale light that
they were in a kind of passage which behind them turned a corner.
Round the corner a long arm was groping, walking on its fingers
towards Sam, who was lying nearest, and towards the hilt of the
sword that lay upon him.
At first Frodo felt as if he had indeed been turned into stone by
the incantation. Then a wild thought of escape came to him. He
wondered if he put on the Ring, whether the Barrow-wight would
miss him, and he might find some way out. He thought of himself
running free over the grass, grieving for Merry, and Sam, and Pippin,
but free and alive himself. Gandalf would admit that there had been
nothing else he could do.
But the courage that had been awakened in him was now too
strong: he could not leave his friends so easily. He wavered, groping
in his pocket, and then fought with himself again; and as he did so
the arm crept nearer. Suddenly resolve hardened in him, and he
seized a short sword that lay beside him, and kneeling he stooped
low over the bodies of his companions. With what strength he had
he hewed at the crawling arm near the wrist, and the hand broke off;
but at the same moment the sword splintered up to the hilt. There
was a shriek and the light vanished. In the dark there was a snarling
noise.
Frodo fell forward over Merry, and Merry’s face felt cold. All at
142 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first
coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the
Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had
taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil!
and with that name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full
and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and
trumpet.
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow,
By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!
There was a sudden deep silence, in which Frodo could hear his
heart beating. After a long slow moment he heard plain, but far away,
as if it was coming down through the ground or through thick walls,
an answering voice singing:
Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow,
Bright blue his jacket 1s, and his boots are ‘yellow.
None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master:
His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.
There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling,
and suddenly light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. A
low door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond
Frodo’s feet; and there was Tom’s head (hat, feather, and all) framed
against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon
the floor, and upon the faces of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo.
They did not stir, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now
as if they were only very deeply asleep.
Tom stooped, removed his hat, and came into the dark chamber,
singing:
Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight!
Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,
Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!
Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty!
Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness,
Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.
At these words there was a cry and part of the inner end of the
chamber fell in with a crash. Then there was a long trailing shriek,
fading away into an unguessable distance; and after that silence.
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS 143
‘Come, friend Frodo!’ said Tom. ‘Let us get out on to clean grass!
You must help me bear them.’
Together they carried out Merry, Pippin, and Sam. As Frodo left
the barrow for the last time he thought he saw a severed hand wrig-
gling still, like a wounded spider, in a heap of fallen earth. Tom went
back in again, and there was a sound of much thumping and stamp-
ing. When he came out he was bearing in his arms a great load of
treasure: things of gold, silver, copper, and bronze; many beads and
chains and jewelled ornaments. He climbed the green barrow and
laid them all on top in the sunshine.
There he stood, with his hat in his hand and the wind in his hair,
and looked down upon the three hobbits, that had been laid on their
backs upon the grass at the west side of the mound. Raising his right
hand he said in a clear and commanding voice:
Wake now my merry lads! Wake and hear me calling!
Warm now be heart and limb! The cold stone is fallen;
Dark door ts standing wide; dead hand 1s broken.
Night under Night is flown, and the Gate 1s open!
To Frodo’s great joy the hobbits stirred, stretched their arms,
rubbed their eyes, and then suddenly sprang up. They looked about
in amazement, first at Frodo, and then at Tom standing large as life
on the barrow-top above them; and then at themselves in their thin
white rags, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with
trinkets.
‘What in the name of wonder?’ began Merry, feeling the golden
circlet that had slipped over one eye. Then he stopped, and a shadow
came over his face, and he closed his eyes. ‘Of course, I remember!’
he said. “The men of Carn Dim came on us at night, and we were
worsted. Ah! the spear in my heart!’ He clutched at his breast. ‘No!
No!’ he said, opening his eyes. ‘What am I saying? I have been
dreaming. Where did you get to, Frodo?’
‘I thought that I was lost,’ said Frodo; ‘but I don’t want to speak
of it. Let us think of what we are to do now! Let us go on!’
‘Dressed up like this, sir?? said Sam. ‘Where are my clothes?’
He flung his circlet, belt, and rings on the grass, and looked round
helplessly, as if he expected to find his cloak, jacket, and breeches,
and other hobbit-garments lying somewhere to hand.
“You won’t find your clothes again,’ said Tom, bounding down
from the mound, and laughing as he danced round them in the
sunlight. One would have thought that nothing dangerous or dreadful
had happened; and indeed the horror faded out of their hearts as
they looked at him, and saw the merry glint in his eyes.
144 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘What do you mean?’ asked Pippin, looking at him, half puzzled
and half amused. ‘Why not?’
But Tom shook his head, saying: ‘You’ve found yourselves again,
out of the deep water. Clothes are but little loss, if you escape from
drowning. Be glad, my merry friends, and let the warm sunlight heat
now heart and limb! Cast off these cold rags! Run naked on the grass,
while Tom goes a-hunting!’
He sprang away down hill, whistling and calling. Looking down
after him Frodo saw him running away southwards along the green
hollow between their hill and the next, still whistling and crying:
Hey! now! Come hoy now! Whither do you wander?
Up, down, near or far, here, there or yonder?
Sharp-ears, Wise-nose, Swish-tail and Bumpkin,
White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!
So he sang, running fast, tossing up his hat and catching it, until
he was hidden by a fold of the ground: but for some time his hey
now! hoy now! came floating back down the wind, which had shifted
round towards the south.
The air was growing very warm again. The hobbits ran about for
a while on the grass, as he told them. Then they lay basking in the
sun with the delight of those that have been wafted suddenly from
bitter winter to a friendly clime, or of people that, after being long
ill and bedridden, wake one day to find that they are unexpectedly
well and the day is again full of promise.
By the time that Tom returned they were feeling strong (and
hungry). He reappeared, hat first, over the brow of the hill, and be-
hind him came in an obedient line six ponies: their own five and one
more. The last was plainly old Fatty Lumpkin: he was larger, stronger,
fatter (and older) than their own ponies. Merry, to whom the others
belonged, had not, in fact, given them any such names, but they
answered to the new names that Tom had given them for the rest of
their lives. Tom called them one by one and they climbed over the
brow and stood in a line. Then Tom bowed to the hobbits.
‘Here are your ponies, now!’ he said. “‘They’ve more sense (in
some ways) than you wandering hobbits have — more sense in their
noses. For they sniff danger ahead which you walk right into; and if
they run to save themselves, then they run the right way. You must
forgive them all; for though their hearts are faithful, to face fear of
Barrow-wights is not what they were made for. See, here they come
again, bringing all their burdens!’
Merry, Sam, and Pippin now clothed themselves in spare garments
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS 145
from their packs; and they soon felt too hot, for they were obliged
to put on some of the thicker and warmer things that they had brought
against the oncoming of winter.
‘Where does that other old animal, that Fatty Lumpkin, come
from?’ asked Frodo.
‘He’s mine,’ said Tom. ‘My four-legged friend; though I seldom
ride him, and he wanders often far, free upon the hillsides. When
your ponies stayed with me, they got to know my Lumpkin; and they
smelt him in the night, and quickly ran to meet him. I thought he’d
look for them and with his words of wisdom take all their fear away.
But now, my jolly Lumpkin, old Tom’s going to ride. Hey! he’s
coming with you, just to set you on the road; so he needs a pony.
For you cannot easily talk to hobbits that are riding, when you’re on
your own legs trying to trot beside them.’
The hobbits were delighted to hear this, and thanked Tom many
times; but he laughed, and said that they were so good at losing
themselves that he would not feel happy till he had seen them safe
over the borders of his land. ‘ve got things to do,’ he said: ‘my
making and my singing, my talking and my walking, and my watching
of the country. Tom can’t be always near to open doors and willow-
cracks. Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry is waiting.’
It was still fairly early by the sun, something between nine and
ten, and the hobbits turned their minds to food. Their last meal had
been lunch beside the standing stone the day before. They breakfasted
now off the remainder of Tom’s provisions, meant for their supper,
with additions that Tom had brought with him. It was not a large
meal (considering hobbits and the circ*mstances), but they felt much
better for it. While they were eating Tom went up to the mound,
and looked through the treasures. Most of these he made into a pile
that glistered and sparkled on the grass. He bade them lie there ‘free
to all finders, birds, beasts, Elves or Men, and all kindly creatures’;
for so the spell of the mound should be broken and scattered and
no Wight ever come back to it. He chose for himself from the pile a
brooch set with blue stones, many-shaded like flax-flowers or the
wings of blue butterflies. He looked long at it, as if stirred by some
memory, shaking his head, and saying at last:
‘Here is a pretty toy for Tom and for his lady! Fair was she who
long ago wore this on her shoulder. Goldberry shall wear it now, and
we will not forget her!’
For each of the hobbits he chose a dagger, long, leaf-shaped, and
keen, of marvellous workmanship, damasked with serpent-forms in
red and gold. They gleamed as he drew them from their black sheaths,
wrought of some strange metal, light and strong, and set with many
146 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
fiery stones. Whether by some virtue in these sheaths or because of
the spell that lay on the mound, the blades seemed untouched by
time, unrusted, sharp, glittering in the sun.
‘Old knives are long enough as swords for hobbit-people,’ he said.
‘Sharp blades are good to have, if Shire-folk go walking, east, south,
or far away into dark and danger.’ Then he told them that these
blades were forged many long years ago by Men of Westernesse: they
were foes of the Dark Lord, but they were overcome by the evil king
of Carn Dim in the Land of Angmar.
‘Few now remember them,’ Tom murmured, ‘yet still some go
wandering, sons of forgotten kings walking in loneliness, guarding
from evil things folk that are heedless.’
The hobbits did not understand his words, but as he spoke they
had a vision as it were of a great expanse of years behind them, like
a vast shadowy plain over which there strode shapes of Men, tall and
grim with bright swords, and last came one with a star on his brow.
Then the vision faded, and they were back in the sunlit world. It was
time to start again. They made ready, packing their bags and lading
their ponies. Their new weapons they hung on their leather belts
under their jackets, feeling them very awkward, and wondering if
they would be of any use. Fighting had not before occurred to any
of them as one of the adventures in which their flight would land
them.
At last they set off. They led their ponies down the hill; and then
mounting they trotted quickly along the valley. They looked back
and saw the top of the old mound on the hill, and from it the sunlight
on the gold went up like a yellow flame. Then they turned a shoulder
of the Downs and it was hidden from view.
Though Frodo looked about him on every side he saw no sign of
the great stones standing like a gate, and before long they came to
the northern gap and rode swiftly through, and the land fell away
before them. It was a merry journey with Tom Bombadil trotting
gaily beside them, or before them, on Fatty Lumpkin, who could
move much faster than his girth promised. Tom sang most of the
time, but it was chiefly nonsense, or else perhaps a strange language
unknown to the hobbits, an ancient language whose words were
mainly those of wonder and delight.
They went forward steadily, but they soon saw that the Road was
further away than they had imagined. Even without a fog, their sleep
at mid-day would have prevented them from reaching it until after
nightfall on the day before. The dark line they had seen was not a
line of trees but a line of bushes growing on the edge of a deep dike
with a steep wall on the further side. Tom said that it had once been
FOG ON THE BARROW-DOWNS 147
the boundary of a kingdom, but a very long time ago. He seemed to
remember something sad about it, and would not say much.
They climbed down and out of the dike and through a gap in the
wall, and then Tom turned due north, for they had been bearing
somewhat to the west. The land was now open and fairly level, and
they quickened their pace, but the sun was already sinking low when
at last they saw a line of tall trees ahead, and they knew that they
had come back to the Road after many unexpected adventures. They
galloped their ponies over the last furlongs, and halted under the
long shadows of the trees. They were on the top of a sloping bank,
and the Road, now dim as evening drew on, wound away below
them. At this point it ran nearly from South-west to North-east, and
on their right it fell quickly down into a wide hollow. It was rutted
and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain; there were pools and
pot-holes full of water.
They rode down the bank and looked up and down. There was
nothing to be seen. ‘Well, here we are again at last!’ said Frodo. ‘I
suppose we haven’t lost more than two days by my short cut through
the Forest! But perhaps the delay will prove useful — it may have put
them off our trail.’
The others looked at him. The shadow of the fear of the Black
Riders came suddenly over them again. Ever since they had entered
the Forest they had thought chiefly of getting back to the Road; only
now when it lay beneath their feet did they remember the danger
which pursued them, and was more than likely to be lying in wait
for them upon the Road itself. They looked anxiously back towards
the setting sun, but the Road was brown and empty.
‘Do you think,’ asked Pippin hesitatingly, ‘do you think we may
be pursued, tonight?’
‘No, I hope not tonight,’ answered Tom Bombadil; ‘nor perhaps
the next day. But do not trust my guess; for I cannot tell for certain.
Out east my knowledge fails. Tom is not master of Riders from the
Black Land far beyond his country.’
All the same the hobbits wished he was coming with them. They
felt that he would know how to deal with Black Riders, if anyone
did. They would soon now be going forward into lands wholly strange
to them, and beyond all but the most vague and distant legends of
the Shire, and in the gathering twilight they longed for home. A deep
loneliness and sense of loss was on them. They stood silent, reluctant
to make the final parting, and only slowly became aware that Tom
was wishing them farewell, and telling them to have good heart and
to ride on till dark without halting.
‘Tom will give you good advice, till this day is over (after that
your own luck must go with you and guide you): four miles along
148 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
the Road you’!l come upon a village, Bree under Bree-hill, with doors
looking westward. There you’ll find an old inn that is called The
Prancing Pony. Barliman Butterbur is the worthy keeper. There you
can stay the night, and afterwards the morning will speed you upon
your way. Be bold, but wary! Keep up your merry hearts, and ride
to meet your fortune!’
They begged him to come at least as far as the inn and drink once
more with them; but he laughed and refused, saying:
Tom’s country ends here: he will not pass the borders.
Tom has his house to mind, and Goldberry ts waiting!
Then he turned, tossed up his hat, leaped on Lumpkin’s back, and
rode up over the bank and away singing into the dusk.
The hobbits climbed up and watched him until he was out of
sight.
‘I am sorry to take leave of Master Bombadil,’ said Sam. ‘He’s a
caution and no mistake. I reckon we may go a good deal further and
see naught better, nor queerer. But I won’t deny I’ll be glad to see
this Prancing Pony he spoke of. I hope it’ll be like The Green Dragon
away back home! What sort of folk are they in Bree?’
“There are hobbits in Bree,’ said Merry, ‘as well as Big Folk. I
daresay it will be homelike enough. The Pony is a good inn by all
accounts. My people ride out there now and again.’
‘It may be all we could wish,’ said Frodo; ‘but it is outside the
Shire all the same. Don’t make yourselves too much at home! Please
remember — all of you — that the name of Baggins must NOT be
mentioned. I am Mr. Underhill, if any name must be given.’
They now mounted their ponies and rode off silently into the
evening. Darkness came down quickly, as they plodded slowly down-
hill and up again, until at last they saw lights twinkling some distance
ahead.
Before them rose Bree-hill barring the way, a dark mass against
misty stars; and under its western flank nestled a large village.
Towards it they now hurried desiring only to find a fire, and a door
between them and the night.
Chapter 9
AT THE SIGN OF THE
PRANCING PONY
Bree was the chief village of the Bree-land, a small inhabited region,
like an island in the empty lands round about. Besides Bree itself,
there was Staddle on the other side of the hill, Combe in a deep
valley a little further eastward, and Archet on the edge of the Chet-
wood. Lying round Bree-hill and the villages was a small country of
fields and tamed woodland only a few miles broad.
The Men of Bree were brown-haired, broad, and rather short,
cheerful and independent: they belonged to nobody but themselves;
but they were more friendly and familiar with Hobbits, Dwarves,
Elves, and other inhabitants of the world about them than was (or
is) usual with Big People. According to their own tales they were the
original inhabitants and were the descendants of the first Men that
ever wandered into the West of the middle-world. Few had survived
the turmoils of the Elder Days; but when the Kings returned again
over the Great Sea they had found the Bree-men still there, and they
were still there now, when the memory of the old Kings had faded
into the grass.
In those days no other Men had settled dwellings so far west, or
within a hundred leagues of the Shire. But in the wild lands beyond
Bree there were mysterious wanderers. The Bree-folk called them
Rangers, and knew nothing of their origin. They were taller and
darker than the Men of Bree and were believed to have strange powers
of sight and hearing, and to understand the languages of beasts and
birds. They roamed at will southwards, and eastwards even as far as
the Misty Mountains; but they were now few and rarely seen. When
they appeared they brought news from afar, and told strange forgotten
tales which were eagerly listened to; but the Bree-folk did not make
friends of them.
There were also many families of hobbits in the Bree-land; and
they claimed to be the oldest settlement of Hobbits in the world, one
that was founded long before even the Brandywine was crossed and
the Shire colonized. They lived mostly in Staddle though there were
some in Bree itself, especially on the higher slopes of the hill, above
the houses of the Men. The Big Folk and the Little Folk (as they
called one another) were on friendly terms, minding their own affairs
in their own ways, but both rightly regarding themselves as necessary
150 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
parts of the Bree-folk. Nowhere else in the world was this peculiar
(but excellent) arrangement to be found.
The Bree-folk, Big and Little, did not themselves travel much;
and the affairs of the four villages were their chief concern. Occasion-
ally the Hobbits of Bree went as far as Buckland, or the Eastfarthing;
but though their little land was not much further than a day’s riding
east of the Brandywine Bridge, the Hobbits of the Shire now seldom
visited it. An occasional Bucklander or adventurous Took would
come out to the Inn for a night or two, but even that was becoming
less and less usual. The Shire-hobbits referred to those of Bree, and
to any others that lived beyond the borders, as Outsiders, and took
very little interest in them, considering them dull and uncouth. There
were probably many more Outsiders scattered about in the West of
the World in those days than the people of the Shire imagined. Some,
doubtless, were no better than tramps, ready to dig a hole in any
bank and stay only as long as it suited them. But in the Bree-land,
at any rate, the hobbits were decent and prosperous, and no more
rustic than most of their distant relatives Inside. It was not yet forgot-
ten that there had been a time when there was much coming and
going between the Shire and Bree. There was Bree-blood in the
Brandybucks by all accounts.
The village of Bree had some hundred stone houses of the Big
Folk, mostly above the Road, nestling on the hillside with windows
looking west. On that side, running in more than half a circle from
the hill and back to it, there was a deep dike with a thick hedge on
the inner side. Over this the Road crossed by a causeway; but where
it pierced the hedge it was barred by a great gate. There was another
gate in the southern corner where the Road ran out of the village.
The gates were closed at nightfall; but just inside them were small
lodges for the gatekeepers.
Down on the Road, where it swept to the right to go round the
foot of the hill, there was a large inn. It had been built long ago when
the traffic on the roads had been far greater. For Bree stood at an
old meeting of ways; another ancient road crossed the East Road just
outside the dike at the western end of the village, and in former days
Men and other folk of various sorts had travelled much on it. Strange
as News from Bree was still a saying in the Eastfarthing, descending
from those days, when news from North, South, and East could be
heard in the inn, and when the Shire-hobbits used to go more often
to hear it. But the Northern Lands had long been desolate, and
the North Road was now seldom used: it was grass-grown, and the
Bree-folk called it the Greenway.
The Inn of Bree was still there, however, and the innkeeper was
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY ISI
an important person. His house was a meeting place for the idle,
talkative, and inquisitive among the inhabitants, large and small, of
the four villages; and a resort of Rangers and other wanderers, and
for such travellers (mostly dwarves) as still journeyed on the East
Road, to and from the Mountains.
It was dark, and white stars were shining, when Frodo and his
companions came at last to the Greenway-crossing and drew near
the village. They came to the West-gate and found it shut; but at the
door of the lodge beyond it, there was a man sitting. He jumped up
and fetched a lantern and looked over the gate at them in surprise.
‘What do you want, and where do you come from?’ he asked
gruffly.
‘We are making for the inn here,’ answered Frodo. ‘We are jour-
neying east and cannot go further tonight.’
‘Hobbits! Four hobbits! And what’s more, out of the Shire by their
talk,’ said the gatekeeper, softly as if speaking to himself. He stared
at them darkly for a moment, and then slowly opened the gate and
let them ride through.
‘We don’t often see Shire-folk riding on the Road at night,’ he
went on, as they halted a moment by his door. ‘You'll pardon my
wondering what business takes you away east of Bree! What may
your names be, might I ask?’
‘Our names and our business are our own, and this does not seem
a good place to discuss them,’ said Frodo, not liking the look of the
man or the tone of his voice.
“Your business is your own, no doubt,’ said the man; ‘but it’s my
business to ask questions after nightfall.’
‘We are hobbits from Buckland, and we have a fancy to travel and
to stay at the inn here,’ put in Merry. ‘I am Mr. Brandybuck. Is that
enough for you? The Bree-folk used to be fair-spoken to travellers,
or so I had heard.’
‘All right, all right!’ said the man. ‘I meant no offence. But you'll
find maybe that more folk than old Harry at the gate will be asking
you questions. There’s queer folk about. If you go on to The Pony,
you'll find you’re not the only guests.’
He wished them good night, and they said no more; but Frodo
could see in the lantern-light that the man was still eyeing them
curiously. He was glad to hear the gate clang to behind them, as they
rode forward. He wondered why the man was so suspicious, and
whether anyone had been asking for news of a party of hobbits. Could
it have been Gandalf? He might have arrived, while they were delayed
in the Forest and the Downs. But there was something in the look
and the voice of the gatekeeper that made him uneasy.
152 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The man stared after the hobbits for a moment, and then he went
back to his house. As soon as his back was turned, a dark figure
climbed quickly in over the gate and melted into the shadows of the
village street.
The hobbits rode on up a gentle slope, passing a few detached
houses, and drew up outside the inn. The houses looked large and
strange to them. Sam stared up at the inn with its three storeys and
many windows, and felt his heart sink. He had imagined himself
meeting giants taller than trees, and other creatures even more terrify-
ing, some time or other in the course of his journey; but at the
moment he was finding his first sight of Men and their tall houses
quite enough, indeed too much for the dark end of a tiring day. He
pictured black horses standing all saddled in the shadows of the
inn-yard, and Black Riders peering out of dark upper windows.
‘We surely aren’t going to stay here for the night, are we, sir?’ he
exclaimed. ‘If there are hobbit-folk in these parts, why don’t we look
for some that would be willing to take us in? It would be more
homelike.’
‘What’s wrong with the inn?’ said Frodo. “Tom Bombadil recom-
mended it. I expect it’s homelike enough inside.’
Even from the outside the inn looked a pleasant house to familiar
eyes. It had a front on the Road, and two wings running back on
land partly cut out of the lower slopes of the hill, so that at the rear
the second-floor windows were level with the ground. There was a
wide arch leading to a courtyard between the two wings, and on the
left under the arch there was a large doorway reached by a few broad
steps. The door was open and light streamed out of it. Above the
arch there was a lamp, and beneath it swung a large signboard: a fat
white pony reared up on its hind legs. Over the door was painted in
white letters: THE PRANCING PONY by BARLIMAN BUTTERBUR. Many
of the lower windows showed lights behind thick curtains.
As they hesitated outside in the gloom, someone began singing a
merry song inside, and many cheerful voices joined loudly in the
chorus. They listened to this encouraging sound for a moment and
then got off their ponies. The song ended and there was a burst of
laughter and clapping.
They led their ponies under the arch, and leaving them standing
in the yard they climbed up the steps. Frodo went forward and nearly
bumped into a short fat man with a bald head and a red face. He
had a white apron on, and was bustling out of one door and in
through another, carrying a tray laden with full mugs.
‘Can we > began Frodo.
‘Half a minute, if you please!’ shouted the man over his shoulder,
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY 153
and vanished into a babel of voices and a cloud of smoke. In a
moment he was out again, wiping his hands on his apron.
‘Good evening, little master!’ he said, bending down. ‘What may
you be wanting?’
‘Beds for four, and stabling for five ponies, if that can be managed.
Are you Mr. Butterbur?’
‘That’s right! Barliman is my name. Barliman Butterbur at your
service! You’re from the Shire, eh?’ he said, and then suddenly he
clapped his hand to his forehead, as if trying to remember something.
‘Hobbits!’ he cried. ‘Now what does that remind me of? Might I ask
your names, sirs?’
‘Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck,’ said Frodo; ‘and this is Sam
Gamgee. My name is Underhill.’
“There now!’ said Mr. Butterbur, snapping his fingers. ‘It’s gone
again! But it’ll come back, when I have time to think. ’m run off
my feet; but I'll see what I can do for you. We don’t often get a party
out of the Shire nowadays, and I should be sorry not to make you
welcome. But there is such a crowd already in the house tonight as
there hasn’t been for long enough. It never rains but it pours, we say
in Bree.’
‘Hi! Nob!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you, you woolly-footed slow-
coach? Nob!’
‘Coming, sir! Coming!’ A cheery-looking hobbit bobbed out of a
door, and seeing the travellers, stopped short and stared at them with
great interest.
‘Where’s Bob?’ asked the landlord. ‘You don’t know? Well, find
him! Double sharp! I haven’t got six legs, nor six eyes neither! Tell
Bob there’s five ponies that have to be stabled. He must find room
somehow.’ Nob trotted off with a grin and a wink.
‘Well now, what was I going to say?’ said Mr. Butterbur, tapping
his forehead. ‘One thing drives out another, so to speak. I’m that
busy tonight, my head is going round. There’s a party that came up
the Greenway from down South last night — and that was strange
enough to begin with. Then there’s a travelling company of dwarves
going West come in this evening. And now there’s you. If you weren’t
hobbits, I doubt if we could house you. But we’ve got a room or two
in the north wing that were made special for hobbits, when this place
was built. On the ground floor as they usually prefer; round windows
and all as they like it. I hope you’ll be comfortable. You’ll be wanting
supper, I don’t doubt. As soon as may be. This way now!’
He led them a short way down a passage, and opened a door.
‘Here is a nice little parlour!’ he said. ‘I hope it will suit. Excuse me
now. I’m that busy. No time for talking. I must be trotting. It’s hard
work for two legs, but I don’t get thinner. Ill look in again later. If
154 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
you want anything, ring the hand-bell, and Nob will come. If he
don’t come, ring and shout!’
Off he went at last, and left them feeling rather breathless. He
seemed capable of an endless stream of talk, however busy he might
be. They found themselves in a small and cosy room. There was a
bit of bright fire burning on the hearth, and in front of it were some
low and comfortable chairs. There was a round table, already spread
with a white cloth, and on it was a large hand-bell. But Nob, the
hobbit servant, came bustling in long before they thought of ringing.
He brought candles and a tray full of plates.
‘Will you be wanting anything to drink, masters?’ he asked. ‘And
shall I show you the bedrooms, while your supper is got ready?’
They were washed and in the middle of good deep mugs of beer
when Mr. Butterbur and Nob came in again. In a twinkling the table
was laid. There was hot soup, cold meats, a blackberry tart, new loaves,
slabs of butter, and half a ripe cheese: good plain food, as good as
the Shire could show, and homelike enough to dispel the last of Sam’s
misgivings (already much relieved by the excellence of the beer).
The landlord hovered round for a little, and then prepared to leave
them. ‘I don’t know whether you would care to join the company,
when you have supped,’ he said, standing at the door. ‘Perhaps you
would rather go to your beds. Still the company would be very pleased
to welcome you, if you had a mind. We don’t get Outsiders — travellers
from the Shire, I should say, begging your pardon — often; and we
like to hear a bit of news, or any story or song you may have in mind.
But as you please! Ring the bell, if you lack anything!’
So refreshed and encouraged did they feel at the end of their
supper (about three quarters of an hour’s steady going, not hindered
by unnecessary talk) that Frodo, Pippin, and Sam decided to join
the company. Merry said it would be too stuffy. ‘I shall sit here
quietly by the fire for a bit, and perhaps go out later for a sniff of
the air. Mind your Ps and Qs, and don’t forget that you are supposed
to be escaping in secret, and are still on the high-road and not very
far from the Shire!’
‘All right!’ said Pippin. ‘Mind yourself! Don’t get lost, and don’t
forget that it is safer indoors!’
The company was in the big common-room of the inn. The gather-
ing was large and mixed, as Frodo discovered, when his eyes got
used to the light. This came chiefly from a blazing log-fire, for the
three lamps hanging from the beams were dim, and half veiled in
smoke. Barliman Butterbur was standing near the fire, talking to a
couple of dwarves and one or two strange-looking men. On the
benches were various folk: men of Bree, a collection of local hobbits
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY 155
(sitting chattering together), a few more dwarves, and other vague
figures difficult to make out away in the shadows and corners.
As soon as the Shire-hobbits entered, there was a chorus of wel-
come from the Bree-landers. The strangers, especially those that had
come up the Greenway, stared at them curiously. The landlord intro-
duced the newcomers to the Bree-folk, so quickly that, though they
caught many names, they were seldom sure who the names belonged
to. The Men of Bree seemed all to have rather botanical (and to the
Shire-folk rather odd) names, like Rushlight, Goatleaf, Heathertoes,
Appledore, Thistlewool and Ferny (not to mention Butterbur). Some
of the hobbits had similar names. The Mugworts, for instance,
seemed numerous. But most of them had natural names, such as
Banks, Brockhouse, Longholes, Sandheaver, and Tunnelly, many of
which were used in the Shire. There were several Underhills from
Staddle, and as they could not imagine sharing a name without being
related, they took Frodo to their hearts as a long-lost cousin.
The Bree-hobbits were, in fact, friendly and inquisitive, and Frodo
soon found that some explanation of what he was doing would have
to be given. He gave out that he was interested in history and geogra-
phy (at which there was much wagging of heads, although neither of
these words were much used in the Bree-dialect). He said he was
thinking of writing a book (at which there was silent astonishment),
and that he and his friends wanted to collect information about
hobbits living outside the Shire, especially in the eastern lands.
At this a chorus of voices broke out. If Frodo had really wanted
to write a book, and had had many ears, he would have learned
enough for several chapters in a few minutes. And if that was not
enough, he was given a whole list of names, beginning with ‘Old
Barliman here’, to whom he could go for further information. But
after a time, as Frodo did not show any sign of writing a book on
the spot, the hobbits returned to their questions about doings in the
Shire. Frodo did not prove very communicative, and he soon found
himself sitting alone in a corner, listening and looking around.
The Men and Dwarves were mostly talking of distant events and
telling news of a kind that was becoming only too familiar. There
was trouble away in the South, and it seemed that the Men who had
come up the Greenway were on the move, looking for lands where
they could find some peace. The Bree-folk were sympathetic, but
plainly not very ready to take a large number of strangers into their
little land. One of the travellers, a squint-eyed ill-favoured fellow,
was foretelling that more and more people would be coming north
in the near future. ‘If room isn’t found for them, they’l!l find it for
themselves. They’ve a right to live, same as other folk,’ he said loudly.
The local inhabitants did not look pleased at the prospect.
156 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The hobbits did not pay much attention to all this, as it did not
at the moment seem to concern hobbits. Big Folk could hardly beg
for lodgings in hobbit-holes. They were more interested in Sam and
Pippin, who were now feeling quite at home, and were chatting gaily
about events in the Shire. Pippin roused a good deal of laughter with
an account of the collapse of the roof of the Town Hole in Michel
Delving: Will Whitfoot, the Mayor, and the fattest hobbit in the
Westfarthing, had been buried in chalk, and came out like a floured
dumpling. But there were several questions asked that made Frodo
a little uneasy. One of the Bree-landers, who seemed to have been
in the Shire several times, wanted to know where the Underhills lived
and who they were related to.
Suddenly Frodo noticed that a strange-looking weather-beaten
man, sitting in the shadows near the wall, was also listening intently
to the hobbit-talk. He had a tall tankard in front of him, and was
smoking a long-stemmed pipe curiously carved. His legs were
stretched out before him, showing high boots of supple leather that
fitted him well, but had seen much wear and were now caked with
mud. A travel-stained cloak of heavy dark-green cloth was drawn
close about him, and in spite of the heat of the room he wore a hood
that overshadowed his face; but the gleam of his eyes could be seen
as he watched the hobbits.
‘Who is that?’ Frodo asked, when he got a chance to whisper to
Mr. Butterbur. ‘I don’t think you introduced him?’
‘Him?’ said the landlord in an answering whisper, co*cking an eye
without turning his head. ‘I don’t rightly know. He is one of the
wandering folk — Rangers we call them. He seldom talks: not but
what he can tell a rare tale when he has the mind. He disappears for
a month, or a year, and then he pops up again. He was in and out
pretty often last spring; but I haven’t seen him about lately. What
his right name is I’ve never heard: but he’s known round here as
Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he
don’t tell nobody what cause he has to hurry. But there’s no account-
ing for East and West, as we say in Bree, meaning the Rangers and
the Shire-folk, begging your pardon. Funny you should ask about
him.’ But at that moment Mr. Butterbur was called away by a demand
for more ale and his last remark remained unexplained.
Frodo found that Strider was now looking at him, as if he had
heard or guessed all that had been said. Presently, with a wave of his
hand and a nod, he invited Frodo to come over and sit by him. As
Frodo drew near he threw back his hood, showing a shaggy head of
dark hair flecked with grey, and in a pale stern face a pair of keen
grey eyes.
‘I am called Strider,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I am very pleased
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY 157
to meet you, Master — Underhill, if old Butterbur got your name
right.’
‘He did,’ said Frodo stiffly. He felt far from comfortable under
the stare of those keen eyes.
‘Well, Master Underhill,’ said Strider, ‘if I were you, I should
stop your young friends from talking too much. Drink, fire, and
chance-meeting are pleasant enough, but, well — this isn’t the Shire.
There are queer folk about. Though I say it as shouldn’t, you may
think,’ he added with a wry smile, seeing Frodo’s glance. ‘And there
have been even stranger travellers through Bree lately,’ he went on,
watching Frodo’s face.
Frodo returned his gaze but said nothing; and Strider made no
further sign. His attention seemed suddenly to be fixed on Pippin.
To his alarm Frodo became aware that the ridiculous young Took,
encouraged by his success with the fat Mayor of Michel Delving, was
now actually giving a comic account of Bilbo’s farewell party. He
was already giving an imitation of the Speech, and was drawing near
to the astonishing Disappearance.
Frodo was annoyed. It was a harmless enough tale for most of the
local hobbits, no doubt: just a funny story about those funny people
away beyond the River; but some (old Butterbur, for instance) knew
a thing or two, and had probably heard rumours long ago about
Bilbo’s vanishing. It would bring the name of Baggins to their minds,
especially if there had been inquiries in Bree after that name.
Frodo fidgeted, wondering what to do. Pippin was evidently much
enjoying the attention he was getting, and had become quite forgetful
of their danger. Frodo had a sudden fear that in his present mood
he might even mention the Ring; and that might well be disastrous.
“You had better do something quick!’ whispered Strider in his ear.
Frodo jumped up and stood on a table, and began to talk. The
attention of Pippin’s audience was disturbed. Some of the hobbits
looked at Frodo and laughed and clapped, thinking that Mr.
Underhill had taken as much ale as was good for him.
Frodo suddenly felt very foolish, and found himself (as was his
habit when making a speech) fingering the things in his pocket. He
felt the Ring on its chain, and quite unaccountably the desire came
over him to slip it on and vanish out of the silly situation. It seemed
to him, somehow, as if the suggestion came to him from outside,
from someone or something in the room. He resisted the temptation
firmly, and clasped the Ring in his hand, as if to keep a hold on it
and prevent it from escaping or doing any mischief. At any rate it
gave him no inspiration. He spoke ‘a few suitable words’, as they
would have said in the Shire: We are all very much gratified by the
kindness of your reception, and I venture to hope that my brief visit will
158 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
help to renew the old ties of friendship between the Shire and Bree; and
then he hesitated and coughed.
Everyone in the room was now looking at him. ‘A song!’ shouted
one of the hobbits. ‘A song! A song!’ shouted all the others. ‘Come
on now, master, sing us something that we haven’t heard before!’
For a moment Frodo stood gaping. Then in desperation he began
a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed
rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about
an inn; and that is probably why it came into Frodo’s mind just
then. Here it is in full. Only a few words of it are now, as a rule,
remembered.
There is an inn, a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill.
The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he runs his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.
The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there’s good cheer among the guests,
He co*cks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.
They also keep a hornéd cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.
And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday* there’s a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
on Saturday afternoons.
* See note 2, III, p.1111
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY
The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased his tail.
The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale,
and dawn was in the air.
Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
‘The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master’s been and drowned his wits,
and the Sun’ll be rising soon!’
So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:
Tt’s after three! he said.
They rolled the Man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the Moon,
While his horses galloped up 1n rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.
Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
The guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor.
With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!
the cow jumped over the Moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
with the silver Sunday spoon.
159
160 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The round Moon rolled behind the hill
as the Sun ratsed up her head.
She* hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
they all went back to bed!
There was loud and long applause. Frodo had a good voice, and
the song tickled their fancy. ‘Where’s old Barley?’ they cried. ‘He
ought to hear this. Bob ought to learn his cat the fiddle, and then
we'd have a dance.’ They called for more ale, and began to shout:
‘Let’s have it again, master! Come on now! Once more!’
They made Frodo have another drink, and then begin his song
again, while many of them joined in; for the tune was well known,
and they were quick at picking up words. It was now Frodo’s turn
to feel pleased with himself. He capered about on the table; and
when he came a second time to the cow jumped over the Moon, he
leaped in the air. Much too vigorously; for he came down, bang, into
a tray full of mugs, and slipped, and rolled off the table with a crash,
clatter, and bump! The audience all opened their mouths wide for
laughter, and stopped short in gaping silence; for the singer dis-
appeared. He simply vanished, as if he had gone slap through the
floor without leaving a hole!
The local hobbits stared in amazement, and then sprang to their
feet and shouted for Barliman. All the company drew away from
Pippin and Sam, who found themselves left alone in a corner, and
eyed darkly and doubtfully from a distance. It was plain that many
people regarded them now as the companions of a travelling magician
of unknown powers and purpose. But there was one swarthy Bree-
lander, who stood looking at them with a knowing and half-mocking
expression that made them feel very uncomfortable. Presently he
slipped out of the door, followed by the squint-eyed southerner: the
two had been whispering together a good deal during the evening.
Frodo felt a fool. Not knowing what else to do, he crawled away
under the tables to the dark corner by Strider, who sat unmoved,
giving no sign of his thoughts. Frodo leaned back against the wall
and took off the Ring. How it came to be on his finger he could not
tell. He could only suppose that he had been handling it in his pocket
while he sang, and that somehow it had slipped on when he stuck
out his hand with a jerk to save his fall. For a moment he wondered
if the Ring itself had not played him a trick; perhaps it had tried to
reveal itself in response to some wish or command that was felt in
the room. He did not like the looks of the men that had gone out.
* Elves (and Hobbits) always refer to the Sun as She.
AT THE SIGN OF THE PRANCING PONY 161
‘Well?’ said Strider, when he reappeared. ‘Why did you do that?
Worse than anything your friends could have said! You have put your
foot in it! Or should I say your finger?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Frodo, annoyed and alarmed.
‘Oh yes, you do,’ answered Strider; ‘but we had better wait until
the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr. Baggins, I should
like a quiet word with you.’
‘What about?’ asked Frodo, ignoring the sudden use of his proper
name.
‘A matter of some importance — to us both,’ answered Strider,
looking Frodo in the eye. ‘You may hear something to your
advantage.’
‘Very well,’ said Frodo, trying to appear unconcerned. ‘T’ll talk to
you later.’
Meanwhile an argument was going on by the fireplace. Mr.
Butterbur had come trotting in, and he was now trying to listen to
several conflicting accounts of the event at the same time.
‘I saw him, Mr. Butterbur,’ said a hobbit; ‘or leastways I didn’t
see him, if you take my meaning. He just vanished into thin air, in
a manner of speaking.’
“You don’t say, Mr. Mugwort!’ said the landlord, looking puzzled.
“Yes I do!’ replied Mugwort. ‘And I mean what I say, what’s more.’
“There’s some mistake somewhere,’ said Butterbur, shaking his
head. “There was too much of that Mr. Underhill to go vanishing
into thin air; or into thick air, as is more likely in this room.’
‘Well, where is he now?’ cried several voices.
‘How should I know? He’s welcome to go where he will, so long
as he pays in the morning. There’s Mr. Took, now: he’s not vanished.’
‘Well, I saw what I saw, and I saw what I didn’t,’ said Mugwort
obstinately.
‘And I say there’s some mistake,’ repeated Butterbur, picking up
the tray and gathering up the broken crockery.
‘Of course there’s a mistake!’ said Frodo. ‘I haven’t vanished. Here
I am! [ve just been having a few words with Strider in the corner.’
He came forward into the firelight; but most of the company
backed away, even more perturbed than before. They were not in
the least satisfied by his explanation that he had crawled away quickly
under the tables after he had fallen. Most of the Hobbits and the
Men of Bree went off then and there in a huff, having no fancy for
further entertainment that evening. One or two gave Frodo a black
look and departed muttering among themselves. The Dwarves and
the two or three strange Men that still remained got up and said
good night to the landlord, but not to Frodo and his friends. Before
162 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
long no one was left but Strider, who sat on, unnoticed, by the wall.
Mr. Butterbur did not seem much put out. He reckoned, very
probably, that his house would be full again on many future nights,
until the present mystery had been thoroughly discussed. ‘Now what
have you been doing, Mr. Underhill?’ he asked. ‘Frightening my
customers and breaking up my crocks with your acrobatics!’
‘I am very sorry to have caused any trouble,’ said Frodo. ‘It was
quite unintentional, I assure you. A most unfortunate accident.’
‘All right, Mr. Underhill! But if you’re going to do any more
tumbling, or conjuring, or whatever it was, you’d best warn folk
beforehand — and warn me. We’re a bit suspicious round here of
anything out of the way — uncanny, if you understand me; and we
don’t take to it all of a sudden.’
‘I shan’t be doing anything of the sort again, Mr. Butterbur, I
promise you. And now I think [ll be getting to bed. We shall be
making an early start. Will you see that our ponies are ready by eight
o’clock?’
‘Very good! But before you go, I should like a word with you in
private, Mr. Underhill. Something has just come back to my mind
that I ought to tell you. I hope that you’ll not take it amiss. When
I’ve seen to a thing or two, Ill come along to your room, if you’re
willing.’
‘Certainly!’ said Frodo; but his heart sank. He wondered how
many private talks he would have before he got to bed, and what
they would reveal. Were these people all in league against him? He
began to suspect even old Butterbur’s fat face of concealing dark
designs.
Chapter 10
STRIDER
Frodo, Pippin, and Sam made their way back to the parlour. There
was no light. Merry was not there, and the fire had burned low. It
was not until they had puffed up the embers into a blaze and thrown
on a couple of fa*ggots that they discovered Strider had come with
them. There he was calmly sitting in a chair by the door!
‘Hallo!’ said Pippin. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’
‘I am called Strider,’ he answered; ‘and though he may have for-
gotten it, your friend promised to have a quiet talk with me.’
“You said I might hear something to my advantage, I believe,’ said
Frodo. ‘What have you to say?’
‘Several things,’ answered Strider. ‘But, of course, I have my price.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frodo sharply.
‘Don’t be alarmed! I mean just this: I will tell you what I know,
and give you some good advice — but I shall want a reward.’
‘And what will that be, pray?’ said Frodo. He suspected now that
he had fallen in with a rascal, and he thought uncomfortably that he
had brought only a little money with him. All of it would hardly
satisfy a rogue, and he could not spare any of it.
‘No more than you can afford,’ answered Strider with a slow smile,
as if he guessed Frodo’s thoughts. ‘Just this: you must take me along
with you, until I wish to leave you.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ replied Frodo, surprised, but not much relieved.
‘Even if I wanted another companion, I should not agree to any such
thing, until I knew a good deal more about you, and your business.’
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Strider, crossing his legs and sitting back
comfortably. “You seem to be coming to your senses again, and that
is all to the good. You have been much too careless so far. Very well!
I will tell you what I know, and leave the reward to you. You may
be glad to grant it, when you have heard me.’
‘Go on then!’ said Frodo. ‘What do you know?’
“Too much; too many dark things,’ said Strider grimly. ‘But as
for your business > He got up and went to the door, opened it
quickly and looked out. Then he shut it quietly and sat down again.
‘I have quick ears,’ he went on, lowering his voice, ‘and though I
cannot disappear, I have hunted many wild and wary things and I
can usually avoid being seen, if I wish. Now, I was behind the hedge
this evening on the Road west of Bree, when four hobbits came out
of the Downlands. I need not repeat all that they said to old Bombadil
164 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
or to one another; but one thing interested me. Please remember, said
one of them, that the name Baggins must not be mentioned. I am Mr.
Underhill, if any name must be given. That interested me so much that
I followed them here. I slipped over the gate just behind them. Maybe
Mr. Baggins has an honest reason for leaving his name behind; but
if so, I should advise him and his friends to be more careful.’
‘I don’t see what interest my name has for anyone in Bree,’ said
Frodo angrily, ‘and I have still to learn why it interests you. Mr.
Strider may have an honest reason for spying and eavesdropping; but
if so, I should advise him to explain it.’
‘Well answered!’ said Strider laughing. ‘But the explanation is
simple: I was looking for a Hobbit called Frodo Baggins. I wanted
to find him quickly. I had learned that he was carrying out of the
Shire, well, a secret that concerned me and my friends.
‘Now, don’t mistake me!’ he cried, as Frodo rose from his seat,
and Sam jumped up with a scowl. ‘I shall take more care of the secret
than you do. And care is needed!’ He leaned forward and looked
at them. ‘Watch every shadow!’ he said in a low voice. ‘Black horse-
men have passed through Bree. On Monday one came down the
Greenway, they say; and another appeared later, coming up the
Greenway from the south.’
There was a silence. At last Frodo spoke to Pippin and Sam: ‘I
ought to have guessed it from the way the gatekeeper greeted us,’ he
said. ‘And the landlord seems to have heard something. Why did he
press us to join the company? And why on earth did we behave so
foolishly: we ought to have stayed quiet in here.’
‘It would have been better,’ said Strider. ‘I would have stopped
your going into the common-room, if I could; but the innkeeper
would not let me in to see you, or take a message.’
‘Do you think he > began Frodo.
‘No, I don’t think any harm of old Butterbur. Only he does not
altogether like mysterious vagabonds of my sort.’ Frodo gave him a
puzzled look. ‘Well, I have rather a rascally look, have I not?’ said
Strider with a curl of his lip and a queer gleam in his eye. ‘But I
hope we shall get to know one another better. When we do, I hope
you will explain what happened at the end of your song. For that
little prank——’
‘It was sheer accident!’ interrupted Frodo.
‘I wonder,’ said Strider. ‘Accident, then. That accident has made
your position dangerous.’
‘Hardly more than it was already,’ said Frodo. ‘I knew these horse-
men were pursuing me; but now at any rate they seem to have missed
me and to have gone away.’
STRIDER 165
“You must not count on that!’ said Strider sharply. “They will
return. And more are coming. There are others. I know their number.
I know these Riders.’ He paused, and his eyes were cold and hard.
‘And there are some folk in Bree who are not to be trusted,’ he went
on. ‘Bill Ferny, for instance. He has an evil name in the Bree-land,
and queer folk call at his house. You must have noticed him among
the company: a swarthy sneering fellow. He was very close with one
of the Southern strangers, and they slipped out together just after
your ‘‘accident’”’. Not all of those Southerners mean well; and as
for Ferny, he would sell anything to anybody; or make mischief for
amusem*nt.’
‘What will Ferny sell, and what has my accident got to do with
him?’ said Frodo, still determined not to understand Strider’s
hints.
‘News of you, of course,’ answered Strider. ‘An account of your
performance would be very interesting to certain people. After that
they would hardly need to be told your real name. It seems to me
only too likely that they will hear of it before this night is over. Is
that enough? You can do as you like about my reward: take me as a
guide or not. But I may say that I know all the lands between the
Shire and the Misty Mountains, for I have wandered over them for
many years. I am older than I look. I might prove useful. You will
have to leave the open road after tonight; for the horsem*n will watch
it night and day. You may escape from Bree, and be allowed to go
forward while the Sun is up; but you won’t go far. They will come
on you in the wild, in some dark place where there is no help. Do
you wish them to find you? They are terrible!’
The hobbits looked at him, and saw with surprise that his face
was drawn as if with pain, and his hands clenched the arms of his
chair. The room was very quiet and still, and the light seemed to
have grown dim. For a while he sat with unseeing eyes as if walking
in distant memory or listening to sounds in the Night far away.
‘There!’ he cried after a moment, drawing his hand across his
brow. ‘Perhaps I know more about these pursuers than you do. You
fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet. Tomorrow you will
have to escape, if you can. Strider can take you by paths that are
seldom trodden. Will you have him?’
There was a heavy silence. Frodo made no answer; his mind was
confused with doubt and fear. Sam frowned, and looked at his master;
and at last he broke out:
‘With your leave, Mr. Frodo, I’d say no! This Strider here, he
warns and he says take care; and I say yes to that, and let’s begin
with him. He comes out of the Wild, and I never heard no good of
such folk. He knows something, that’s plain, and more than I like;
166 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
but it’s no reason why we should let him go leading us out into some
dark place far from help, as he puts it.’
Pippin fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. Strider did not reply
to Sam, but turned his keen eyes on Frodo. Frodo caught his glance
and looked away. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t agree. I think, I think
you are not really as you choose to look. You began to talk to me
like the Bree-folk, but your voice has changed. Still Sam seems right
in this: I don’t see why you should warn us to take care, and yet ask
us to take you on trust. Why the disguise? Who are you? What do
you really know about — about my business; and how do you know
it?’
“The lesson in caution has been well learned,’ said Strider with a
grim smile. ‘But caution is one thing and wavering is another. You
will never get to Rivendell now on your own, and to trust me is
your only chance. You must make up your mind. I will answer
some of your questions, if that will help you to do so. But why
should you believe my story, if you do not trust me already? Still
here it is 4
At that moment there came a knock at the door. Mr. Butterbur
had arrived with candles, and behind him was Nob with cans of hot
water. Strider withdrew into a dark corner.
‘I’ve come to bid you good night,’ said the landlord, putting the
candles on the table. ‘Nob! Take the water to the rooms!’ He came
in and shut the door.
‘It’s like this,’ he began, hesitating and looking troubled. ‘If I’ve
done any harm, I’m sorry indeed. But one thing drives out another,
as you'll admit; and I’m a busy man. But first one thing and then
another this week have jogged my memory, as the saying goes; and
not too late I hope. You see, I was asked to look out for hobbits of
the Shire, and for one by the name of Baggins in particular.’
‘And what has that got to do with me?’ asked Frodo.
‘Ah! you know best,’ said the landlord, knowingly. ‘I won’t give
you away; but I was told that this Baggins would be going by the
name of Underhill, and I was given a description that fits you well
enough, if I may say so.’
‘Indeed! Let’s have it then!’ said Frodo, unwisely interrupting.
‘A stout little fellow with red cheeks,’ said Mr. Butterbur solemnly.
Pippin chuckled, but Sam looked indignant. ‘That won’t help you
much; it goes for most hobbits, Barley, he says to me,’ continued Mr.
Butterbur with a glance at Pippin. ‘But this one 1s taller than some and
fairer than most, and he has a cleft in his chin: perky chap with a bright
eye. Begging your pardon, but he said it, not me.’
‘He said it? And who was he?’ asked Frodo eagerly.
STRIDER 167
‘Ah! That was Gandalf, if you know who I mean. A wizard they
say he is, but he’s a good friend of mine, whether or no. But now I
don’t know what he’ll have to say to me, if I see him again: turn all
my ale sour or me into a block of wood, I shouldn’t wonder. He’s a
bit hasty. Still what’s done can’t be undone.’
‘Well, what have you done?’ said Frodo, getting impatient with
the slow unravelling of Butterbur’s thoughts.
‘Where was I?’ said the landlord, pausing and snapping his fingers.
‘Ah, yes! Old Gandalf. Three months back he walked right into my
room without a knock. Barley, he says, I’m off in the morning. Will
you do something for me? You’ve only to name it, I said. I’m in a hurry,
said he, and I’ve no time myself, but I want a message took to the Shire.
Have you anyone you can send, and trust to go? I can find someone, I
said, tomorrow, maybe, or the day after. Make it tomorrow, he says, and
then he gave me a letter.
‘It’s addressed plain enough,’ said Mr. Butterbur, producing a
letter from his pocket, and reading out the address slowly and proudly
(he valued his reputation as a lettered man):
Mr. FRODO BAGGINS, BAG END, HOBBITON in the SHIRE.
‘A letter for me from Gandalf!’ cried Frodo.
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Butterbur. “Then your right name is Baggins?’
‘It is,’ said Frodo, ‘and you had better give me that letter at once,
and explain why you never sent it. That’s what you came to tell
me, I suppose, though you’ve taken a long time to come to the
point.’
Poor Mr. Butterbur looked troubled. ‘You’re right, master,’ he
said, ‘and I beg your pardon. And I’m mortal afraid of what Gandalf
will say, if harm comes of it. But I didn’t keep it back a-purpose. I
put it by safe. Then I couldn’t find nobody willing to go to the Shire
next day, nor the day after, and none of my own folk were to spare;
and then one thing after another drove it out of my mind. I’m a busy
man. I'll do what I can to set matters right, and if there’s any help
I can give, you’ve only to name it.
‘Leaving the letter aside, I promised Gandalf no less. Barley, he
says to me, this friend of mine from the Shire, he may be coming out this
way before long, him and another. He'll be calling himself Underhill. Mind
that! But you need ask no questions. And if I’m not with him, he may be
in trouble, and he may need help. Do whatever you can for him, and Ill
be grateful, he says. And here you are, and trouble is not far off,
seemingly.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frodo.
“These black men,’ said the landlord lowering his voice. “They’re
168 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
looking for Baggins, and if they mean well, then ’'m a hobbit. It was on
Monday, and all the dogs were yammering and the geese screaming.
Uncanny, I called it. Nob, he came and told me that two black men
were at the door asking for a hobbit called Baggins. Nob’s hair was
all stood on end. I bid the black fellows be off, and slammed the
door on them; but they’ve been asking the same question all the way
to Archet, I hear. And that Ranger, Strider, he’s been asking ques-
tions, too. Tried to get in here to see you, before you’d had bite or
sup, he did.’
‘He did!’ said Strider suddenly, coming forward into the light.
‘And much trouble would have been saved, if you had let him in,
Barliman.’
The landlord jumped with surprise. ‘You!’ he cried. “You’re always
popping up. What do you want now?’
‘He’s here with my leave,’ said Frodo. ‘He came to offer me his
help.’
‘Well, you know your own business, maybe,’ said Mr. Butterbur,
looking suspiciously at Strider. ‘But if I was in your plight, I wouldn’t
take up with a Ranger.’
“Then who would you take up with?’ asked Strider. ‘A fat innkeeper
who only remembers his own name because people shout it at him
all day? They cannot stay in The Pony for ever, and they cannot go
home. They have a long road before them. Will you go with them
and keep the black men off?’
‘Me? Leave Bree! I wouldn’t do that for any money,’ said Mr.
Butterbur, looking really scared. ‘But why can’t you stay here quiet
for a bit, Mr. Underhill? What are all these queer goings on? What
are these black men after, and where do they come from, I’d like to
know?’
‘I’m sorry I can’t explain it all,’ answered Frodo. ‘I am tired and
very worried, and it’s a long tale. But if you mean to help me, I ought
to warn you that you will be in danger as long as I am in your house.
These Black Riders: I am not sure, but I think, I fear they come
from——’
“They come from Mordor,’ said Strider in a low voice. ‘From
Mordor, Barliman, if that means anything to you.’
‘Save us!’ cried Mr. Butterbur turning pale; the name evidently
was known to him. “That is the worst news that has come to Bree in
my time.’
‘It is,’ said Frodo. ‘Are you still willing to help me?’
‘Iam,’ said Mr. Butterbur. ‘More than ever. Though I don’t know
what the likes of me can do against, against > he faltered.
‘Against the Shadow in the East,’ said Strider quietly. ‘Not much,
Barliman, but every little helps. You can let Mr. Underhill stay here
STRIDER 169
tonight, as Mr. Underhill; and you can forget the name of Baggins,
till he is far away.’
‘T'll do that,’ said Butterbur. ‘But they'll find out he’s here without
help from me, I’m afraid. It’s a pity Mr. Baggins drew attention to
himself this evening, to say no more. The story of that Mr. Bilbo’s
going off has been heard before tonight in Bree. Even our Nob has
been doing some guessing in his slow pate; and there are others in
Bree quicker in the uptake than he is.’
‘Well, we can only hope the Riders won’t come back yet,’ said
Frodo.
‘I hope not, indeed,’ said Butterbur. ‘But spooks or no spooks,
they won’t get in The Pony so easy. Don’t you worry till the morning.
Nob’ll say no word. No black man shall pass my doors, while I can
stand on my legs. Me and my folk’ll keep watch tonight; but you
had best get some sleep, if you can.’
‘In any case we must be called at dawn,’ said Frodo. ‘We must
get off as early as possible. Breakfast at six-thirty, please.’
‘Right! Pll see to the orders,’ said the landlord. ‘Good night, Mr.
Baggins — Underhill, I should say! Good night — now, bless me!
Where’s your Mr. Brandybuck?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Frodo with sudden anxiety. They had forgot-
ten all about Merry, and it was getting late. ‘I am afraid he is out.
He said something about going for a breath of air.’
‘Well, you do want looking after and no mistake: your party might
be on a holiday!’ said Butterbur. ‘I must go and bar the doors quick,
but Pll see your friend is let in when he comes. I’d better send Nob
to look for him. Good night to you all!’ At last Mr. Butterbur went
out, with another doubtful look at Strider and a shake of his head.
His footsteps retreated down the passage.
‘Well?’ said Strider. ‘When are you going to open that letter?’
Frodo looked carefully at the seal before he broke it. It seemed cer-
tainly to be Gandalf’s. Inside, written in the wizard’s strong but
graceful script, was the following message:
THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. Midyear’s Day, Shire Year, 1418.
Dear Frodo,
Bad news has reached me here. I must go off at once. You had better
leave Bag End soon, and get out of the Shire before the end of fuly at
latest. I will return as soon as I can; and I will follow you, tf I find that
you are gone. Leave a message for me here, if you pass through Bree. You
can trust the landlord (Butterbur). You may meet a friend of mine on the
Road: a Man, lean, dark, tall, by some called Strider. He knows our
I70 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
business and will help you. Make for Rivendell. There I hope we may meet
again. If I do not come, Elrond will advise you.
Yours in haste
GANDALF. P
PS. Do NOT use It again, not for any reason whatever! Do not travel
by night! P
PPS. Make sure that tt is the real Strider. There are many strange men
on the roads. His true name is Aragorn.P
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that 1s strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
PPPS. I hope Butterbur sends this promptly. A worthy man, but his
memory is like a lumber-room: thing wanted always =
buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him. 14
Fare Well!
Frodo read the letter to himself, and then passed it to Pippin and
Sam. ‘Really old Butterbur has made a mess of things!’ he said. ‘He
deserves roasting. If I had got this at once, we might all have been
safe in Rivendell by now. But what can have happened to Gandalf?
He writes as if he was going into great danger.’
‘He has been doing that for many years,’ said Strider.
Frodo turned and looked at him thoughtfully, wondering about
Gandalf’s second postscript. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were
Gandalf’s friend at once?’ he asked. ‘It would have saved time.’
‘Would it? Would any of you have believed me till now?’ said
Strider. ‘I knew nothing of this letter. For all I knew I had to persuade
you to trust me without proofs, if I was to help you. In any case, I
did not intend to tell you all about myself at once. I had to study
you first, and make sure of you. The Enemy has set traps for me
before now. As soon as I had made up my mind, I was ready to tell
you whatever you asked. But I must admit,’ he added with a queer
laugh, ‘that I hoped you would take to me for my own sake. A hunted
man sometimes wearies of distrust and longs for friendship. But there,
I believe my looks are against me.’
“They are — at first sight at any rate,’ laughed Pippin with sudden
STRIDER I7I
relief after reading Gandalf’s letter. ‘But handsome is as handsome
does, as we say in the Shire; and I daresay we shall all look much
the same after lying for days in hedges and ditches.’
‘It would take more than a few days, or weeks, or years, of wander-
ing in the Wild to make you look like Strider,’ he answered. ‘And
you would die first, unless you are made of sterner stuff than you
look to be.’
Pippin subsided; but Sam was not daunted, and he still eyed
Strider dubiously. ‘How do we know you are the Strider that Gandalf
speaks about?’ he demanded. ‘You never mentioned Gandalf, till this
letter came out. You might be a play-acting spy, for all I can see,
trying to get us to go with you. You might have done in the real
Strider and took his clothes. What have you to say to that?’
‘That you are a stout fellow,’ answered Strider; ‘but I am afraid
my only answer to you, Sam Gamgee, is this. If I had killed the real
Strider, I could kill you. And I should have killed you already without
so much talk. If I was after the Ring, I could have it - Now!’
He stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes
gleamed a light, keen and commanding. Throwing back his cloak,
he laid his hand on the hilt of a sword that had hung concealed by
his side. They did not dare to move. Sam sat wide-mouthed staring
at him dumbly.
‘But I am the real Strider, fortunately,’ he said, looking down at
them with his face softened by a sudden smile. ‘I am Aragorn son of
Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will.’
There was a long silence. At last Frodo spoke with hesitation. ‘I
believed that you were a friend before the letter came,’ he said, ‘or
at least I wished to. You have frightened me several times tonight,
but never in the way that servants of the Enemy would, or so I
imagine. I think one of his spies would — well, seem fairer and feel
fouler, if you understand.’
‘I see,’ laughed Strider. ‘I look foul and feel fair. Is that it? Al that
is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.’
‘Did the verses apply to you then?’ asked Frodo. ‘I could not make
out what they were about. But how did you know that they were in
Gandalf’s letter, if you have never seen it?’
‘I did not know,’ he answered. ‘But Iam Aragorn, and those verses
go with that name.’ He drew out his sword, and they saw that the
blade was indeed broken a foot below the hilt. ‘Not much use is it,
Sam?’ said Strider. ‘But the time is near when it shall be forged
anew.’
Sam said nothing.
‘Well,’ said Strider, ‘with Sam’s permission we will call that settled.
172 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Strider shall be your guide. And now I think it is time you went to
bed and took what rest you can. We shall have a rough road to-
morrow. Even if we are allowed to leave Bree unhindered, we can
hardly hope now to leave it unnoticed. But I shall try to get lost as
soon as possible. I know one or two ways out of Bree-land other than
the main road. If once we shake off the pursuit, I shall make for
Weathertop.’
‘Weathertop?’ said Sam. ‘What’s that?’
‘It is a hill, just to the north of the Road, about half way from
here to Rivendell. It commands a wide view all round; and there we
shall have a chance to look about us. Gandalf will make for that
point, if he follows us. After Weathertop our journey will become
more difficult, and we shall have to choose between various dangers.’
‘When did you last see Gandalf?’ asked Frodo. ‘Do you know
where he is, or what he is doing?’
Strider looked grave. ‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘I came west with
him in the spring. I have often kept watch on the borders of the Shire
in the last few years, when he was busy elsewhere. He seldom left it
unguarded. We last met on the first of May: at Sarn Ford down the
Brandywine. He told me that his business with you had gone well,
and that you would be starting for Rivendell in the last week of
September. As I knew he was at your side, I went away on a journey
of my own. And that has proved ill; for plainly some news reached
him, and I was not at hand to help.
‘I am troubled, for the first time since I have known him. We
should have had messages, even if he could not come himself. When
I returned, many days ago, I heard the ill news. The tidings had gone
far and wide that Gandalf was missing and the horsem*n had been
seen. It was the Elven-folk of Gildor that told me this; and later
they told me that you had left your home; but there was no news
of your leaving Buckland. I have been watching the East Road
anxiously.’
‘Do you think the Black Riders have anything to do with it — with
Gandalf’s absence, I mean?’ asked Frodo.
‘I do not know of anything else that could have hindered him,
except the Enemy himself,’ said Strider. ‘But do not give up hope!
Gandalf is greater than you Shire-folk know — as a rule you can only
see his jokes and toys. But this business of ours will be his greatest
task.’
Pippin yawned. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but I am dead tired. In spite
of all the danger and worry I must go to bed, or sleep where I sit.
Where is that silly fellow, Merry? It would be the last straw, if we
had to go out in the dark to look for him.’
STRIDER 173
At that moment they heard a door slam; then feet came running
along the passage. Merry came in with a rush followed by Nob. He
shut the door hastily, and leaned against it. He was out of breath.
They stared at him in alarm for a moment before he gasped: ‘I have
seen them, Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!’
‘Black Riders!’ cried Frodo. ‘Where?’
‘Here. In the village. I stayed indoors for an hour. Then as you
did not come back, I went out for a stroll. I had come back again
and was standing just outside the light of the lamp looking at the
stars. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creep-
ing near: there was a sort of deeper shade among the shadows across
the road, just beyond the edge of the lamplight. It slid away at once
into the dark without a sound. There was no horse.’
‘Which way did it go?’ asked Strider, suddenly and sharply.
Merry started, noticing the stranger for the first time. ‘Go onl’
said Frodo. ‘This is a friend of Gandalf’s. I will explain later.’
‘It seemed to make off up the Road, eastward,’ continued Merry.
‘I tried to follow. Of course, it vanished almost at once; but I went
round the corner and on as far as the last house on the Road.’
Strider looked at Merry with wonder. ‘You have a stout heart,’ he
said; ‘but it was foolish.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Merry. ‘Neither brave nor silly, I think. I could
hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow. Anyway, I went,
and suddenly I heard voices by the hedge. One was muttering; and
the other was whispering, or hissing. I couldn’t hear a word that was
said. I did not creep any closer, because I began to tremble all over.
Then I felt terrified, and I turned back, and was just going to bolt
home, when something came behind me and I...I fell over.’
‘I found him, sir,’ put in Nob. ‘Mr. Butterbur sent me out with
a lantern. I went down to West-gate, and then back up towards
South-gate. Just nigh Bill Ferny’s house I thought I could see some-
thing in the Road. I couldn’t swear to it, but it looked to me as if
two men was stooping over something, lifting it. I gave a shout, but
when I got up to the spot there was no signs of them, and only Mr.
Brandybuck lying by the roadside. He seemed to be asleep. “‘I thought
Thad fallen into deep water,”’ he says to me, when I shook him. Very
queer he was, and as soon as I had roused him, he got up and ran
back here like a hare.’
‘I am afraid that’s true,’ said Merry, ‘though I don’t know what I
said. I had an ugly dream, which I can’t remember. I went to pieces.
I don’t know what came over me.’
‘I do,’ said Strider. ‘The Black Breath. The Riders must have left
their horses outside, and passed back through the South-gate in
secret. They will know all the news now, for they have visited Bill
174 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Ferny; and probably that Southerner was a spy as well. Something
may happen in the night, before we leave Bree.’
‘What will happen?’ said Merry. ‘Will they attack the inn?’
‘No, I think not,’ said Strider. “They are not all here yet. And in
any case that is not their way. In dark and loneliness they are strong-
est; they will not openly attack a house where there are lights and
many people — not until they are desperate, not while all the long
leagues of Eriador still lie before us. But their power is in terror, and
already some in Bree are in their clutch. They will drive these wretches
to some evil work: Ferny, and some of the strangers, and, maybe,
the gatekeeper too. They had words with Harry at West-gate on
Monday. I was watching them. He was white and shaking when they
left him.’
‘We seem to have enemies all round,’ said Frodo. ‘What are we
to do?’
‘Stay here, and do not go to your rooms! They are sure to have
found out which those are. The hobbit-rooms have windows looking
north and close to the ground. We will all remain together and bar
this window and the door. But first Nob and I will fetch your luggage.’
While Strider was gone, Frodo gave Merry a rapid account of
all that had happened since supper. Merry was still reading and
pondering Gandalf’s letter when Strider and Nob returned.
‘Well Masters,’ said Nob, ‘I’ve ruffled up the clothes and put in
a bolster down the middle of each bed. And I made a nice imitation
of your head with a brown woollen mat, Mr. Bag — Underhill, sir,’
he added with a grin.
Pippin laughed. ‘Very life-like!’ he said. ‘But what will happen
when they have penetrated the disguise?’
‘We shall see,’ said Strider. ‘Let us hope to hold the fort till
morning.’
‘Good night to you,’ said Nob, and went off to take his part in
the watch on the doors.
Their bags and gear they piled on the parlour-floor. They pushed
a low chair against the door and shut the window. Peering out, Frodo
saw that the night was still clear. The Sickle* was swinging bright
above the shoulders of Bree-hill. He then closed and barred the heavy
inside shutters and drew the curtains together. Strider built up the
fire and blew out all the candles.
The hobbits lay down on their blankets with their feet towards the
hearth; but Strider settled himself in the chair against the door. They
talked for a little, for Merry still had several questions to ask.
‘Jumped over the Moon!’ chuckled Merry as he rolled himself in
* The Hobbits’ name for the Plough or Great Bear.
STRIDER 175
his blanket. ‘Very ridiculous of you, Frodo! But I wish I had been
there to see. The worthies of Bree will be discussing it a hundred
years hence.’
‘I hope so,’ said Strider. Then they all fell silent, and one by one
the hobbits dropped off to sleep.
Chapter II
A KNIFE IN THE DARK
As they prepared for sleep in the inn at Bree, darkness lay on Buck-
land; a mist strayed in the dells and along the river-bank. The house
at Crickhollow stood silent. Fatty Bolger opened the door cautiously
and peered out. A feeling of fear had been growing on him all day,
and he was unable to rest or go to bed: there was a brooding threat
in the breathless night-air. As he stared out into the gloom, a black
shadow moved under the trees; the gate seemed to open of its own
accord and close again without a sound. Terror seized him. He shrank
back, and for a moment he stood trembling in the hall. Then he shut
and locked the door.
The night deepened. There came the soft sound of horses led
with stealth along the lane. Outside the gate they stopped, and three
black figures entered, like shades of night creeping across the ground.
One went to the door, one to the corner of the house on either side;
and there they stood, as still as the shadows of stones, while night
went slowly on. The house and the quiet trees seemed to be waiting
breathlessly.
There was a faint stir in the leaves, and a co*ck crowed far away.
The cold hour before dawn was passing. The figure by the door
moved. In the dark without moon or stars a drawn blade gleamed,
as if a chill light had been unsheathed. There was a blow, soft but
heavy, and the door shuddered.
‘Open, in the name of Mordor!’ said a voice thin and menacing.
At a second blow the door yielded and fell back, with timbers
burst and lock broken. The black figures passed swiftly in.
At that moment, among the trees nearby, a horn rang out. It rent
the night like fire on a hill-top.
AWAKE! FEAR! FIRE! FOES! AWAKE!
Fatty Bolger had not been idle. As soon as he saw the dark shapes
creep from the garden, he knew that he must run for it, or perish.
And run he did, out of the back door, through the garden, and over
the fields. When he reached the nearest house, more than a mile
away, he collapsed on the doorstep. ‘No, no, no!’ he was crying. ‘No,
not me! I haven’t got it!’ It was some time before anyone could make
out what he was babbling about. At last they got the idea that enemies
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 177
were in Buckland, some strange invasion from the Old Forest. And
then they lost no more time.
FEAR! FIRE! FOES!
The Brandybucks were blowing the Horn-call of Buckland, that
had not been sounded for a hundred years, not since the white wolves
came in the Fell Winter, when the Brandywine was frozen over.
AWAKE! AWAKE!
Far away answering horns were heard. The alarm was spreading.
The black figures fled from the house. One of them let fall a
hobbit-cloak on the step, as he ran. In the lane the noise of hoofs
broke out, and gathering to a gallop, went hammering away into the
darkness. All about Crickhollow there was the sound of horns blow-
ing, and voices crying and feet running. But the Black Riders rode
like a gale to the North-gate. Let the little people blow! Sauron would
deal with them later. Meanwhile they had another errand: they knew
now that the house was empty and the Ring had gone. They rode
down the guards at the gate and vanished from the Shire.
In the early night Frodo woke from deep sleep, suddenly, as if
some sound or presence had disturbed him. He saw that Strider was
sitting alert in his chair: his eyes gleamed in the light of the fire,
which had been tended and was burning brightly; but he made no
sign or movement.
Frodo soon went to sleep again; but his dreams were again troubled
with the noise of wind and of galloping hoofs. The wind seemed to
be curling round the house and shaking it; and far off he heard a
horn blowing wildly. He opened his eyes, and heard a co*ck crowing
lustily in the inn-yard. Strider had drawn the curtains and pushed
back the shutters with a clang. The first grey light of day was in the
room, and a cold air was coming through the open window.
As soon as Strider had roused them all, he led the way to their
bedrooms. When they saw them they were glad that they had taken
his advice: the windows had been forced open and were swinging,
and the curtains were flapping; the beds were tossed about, and the
bolsters slashed and flung upon the floor; the brown mat was torn
to pieces.
Strider immediately went to fetch the landlord. Poor Mr.
Butterbur looked sleepy and frightened. He had hardly closed his
eyes all night (so he said), but he had never heard a sound.
178 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Never has such a thing happened in my time!’ he cried, raising
his hands in horror. ‘Guests unable to sleep in their beds, and good
bolsters ruined and all! What are we coming to?’
‘Dark times,’ said Strider. ‘But for the present you may be left in
peace, when you have got rid of us. We will leave at once. Never
mind about breakfast: a drink and a bite standing will have to do.
We shall be packed in a few minutes.’
Mr. Butterbur hurried off to see that their ponies were got ready,
and to fetch them a ‘bite’. But very soon he came back in dismay.
The ponies had vanished! The stable-doors had all been opened in
the night, and they were gone: not only Merry’s ponies, but every
other horse and beast in the place.
Frodo was crushed by the news. How could they hope to reach
Rivendell on foot, pursued by mounted enemies? They might as well
set out for the Moon. Strider sat silent for a while, looking at the
hobbits, as if he was weighing up their strength and courage.
‘Ponies would not help us to escape horsem*n,’ he said at last,
thoughtfully, as if he guessed what Frodo had in mind. ‘We should
not go much slower on foot, not on the roads that I mean to take. I
was going to walk in any case. It is the food and stores that trouble
me. We cannot count on getting anything to eat between here and
Rivendell, except what we take with us; and we ought to take plenty
to spare; for we may be delayed, or forced to go round-about, far
out of the direct way. How much are you prepared to carry on your
backs?’
‘As much as we must,’ said Pippin with a sinking heart, but trying
to show that he was tougher than he looked (or felt).
‘I can carry enough for two,’ said Sam defiantly.
‘Can’t anything be done, Mr. Butterbur?’ asked Frodo. ‘Can’t we
get a couple of ponies in the village, or even one just for the baggage?
I don’t suppose we could hire them, but we might be able to buy
them,’ he added, doubtfully, wondering if he could afford it.
‘I doubt it,’ said the landlord unhappily. “The two or three riding-
ponies that there were in Bree were stabled in my yard, and they’re
gone. As for other animals, horses or ponies for draught or what not,
there are very few of them in Bree, and they won’t be for sale. But
T’ll do what I can. Pll rout out Bob and send him round as soon as
may be.’
‘Yes,’ said Strider reluctantly, ‘you had better do that. I am afraid
we shall have to try to get one pony at least. But so ends all hope of
starting early, and slipping away quietly! We might as well have blown
a horn to announce our departure. That was part of their plan, no
doubt.’
‘There is one crumb of comfort,’ said Merry, ‘and more than a
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 179
crumb, I hope: we can have breakfast while we wait — and sit down
to it. Let’s get hold of Nob!’
In the end there was more than three hours’ delay. Bob came back
with the report that no horse or pony was to be got for love or money
in the neighbourhood — except one: Bill Ferny had one that he might
possibly sell. ‘A poor old half-starved creature it is,’ said Bob; ‘but
he won’t part with it for less than thrice its worth, seeing how you’re
placed, not if I knows Bill Ferny.’
‘Bill Ferny?’ said Frodo. ‘Isn’t there some trick? Wouldn’t the
beast bolt back to him with all our stuff, or help in tracking us, or
something?’
‘I wonder,’ said Strider. ‘But I cannot imagine any animal running
home to him, once it got away. I fancy this is only an afterthought
of kind Master Ferny’s: just a way of increasing his profits from the
affair. The chief danger is that the poor beast is probably at death’s
door. But there does not seem any choice. What does he want for
it?’
Bill Ferny’s price was twelve silver pennies; and that was indeed
at least three times the pony’s value in those parts. It proved to be
a bony, underfed, and dispirited animal; but it did not look like dying
just yet. Mr. Butterbur paid for it himself, and offered Merry another
eighteen pence as some compensation for the lost animals. He was
an honest man, and well-off as things were reckoned in Bree; but
thirty silver pennies was a sore blow to him, and being cheated by
Bill Ferny made it harder to bear.
As a matter of fact he came out on the right side in the end. It
turned out later that only one horse had been actually stolen. The
others had been driven off, or had bolted in terror, and were found
wandering in different corners of the Bree-land. Merry’s ponies had
escaped altogether, and eventually (having a good deal of sense) they
made their way to the Downs in search of Fatty Lumpkin. So they
came under the care of Tom Bombadil for a while, and were well-off.
But when news of the events at Bree came to Tom’s ears, he sent
them to Mr. Butterbur, who thus got five good beasts at a very fair
price. They had to work harder in Bree, but Bob treated them well;
so on the whole they were lucky: they missed a dark and dangerous
journey. But they never came to Rivendell.
However, in the meanwhile for all Mr. Butterbur knew his money
was gone for good, or for bad. And he had other troubles. For there
was a great commotion as soon as the remaining guests were astir
and heard news of the raid on the inn. The southern travellers had
lost several horses and blamed the innkeeper loudly, until it became
known that one of their own number had also disappeared in the
180 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
night, none other than Bill Ferny’s squint-eyed companion. Suspicion
fell on him at once.
‘If you pick up with a horse-thief, and bring him to my house,’
said Butterbur angrily, “you ought to pay for all the damage yourselves
and not come shouting at me. Go and ask Ferny where your hand-
some friend is!’ But it appeared that he was nobody’s friend, and
nobody could recollect when he had joined their party.
After their breakfast the hobbits had to re-pack, and get together
further supplies for the longer journey they were now expecting. It
was close on ten o’clock before they at last got off. By that time the
whole of Bree was buzzing with excitement. Frodo’s vanishing trick;
the appearance of the black horsem*n; the robbing of the stables; and
not least the news that Strider the Ranger had joined the mysterious
hobbits, made such a tale as would last for many uneventful years.
Most of the inhabitants of Bree and Staddle, and many even from
Combe and Archet, were crowded in the road to see the travellers
start. The other guests in the inn were at the doors or hanging out
of the windows.
Strider had changed his mind, and had decided to leave Bree by
the main road. Any attempt to set off across country at once would
only make matters worse: half the inhabitants would follow them, to
see what they were up to, and to prevent them from trespassing.
They said farewell to Nob and Bob, and took leave of Mr.
Butterbur with many thanks. ‘I hope we shall meet again some day,
when things are merry once more,’ said Frodo. ‘I should like nothing
better than to stay in your house in peace for a while.’
They tramped off, anxious and downhearted, under the eyes of
the crowd. Not all the faces were friendly, nor all the words that
were shouted. But Strider seemed to be held in awe by most of the
Bree-landers, and those that he stared at shut their mouths and drew
away. He walked in front with Frodo; next came Merry and Pippin;
and last came Sam leading the pony, which was laden with as much
of their baggage as they had the heart to give it; but already it looked
less dejected, as if it approved of the change in its fortunes. Sam was
chewing an apple thoughtfully. He had a pocket full of them: a parting
present from Nob and Bob. ‘Apples for walking, and a pipe for
sitting,’ he said. ‘But I reckon Ill miss them both before long.’
The hobbits took no notice of the inquisitive heads that peeped
out of doors, or popped over walls and fences, as they passed. But
as they drew near to the further gate, Frodo saw a dark ill-kept house
behind a thick hedge: the last house in the village. In one of the
windows he caught a glimpse of a sallow face with sly, slanting eyes;
but it vanished at once.
A KNIFE IN THE DARK I8I
‘So that’s where that southerner is hiding!’ he thought. ‘He looks
more than half like a goblin.’
Over the hedge another man was staring boldly. He had heavy
black brows, and dark scornful eyes; his large mouth curled in a
sneer. He was smoking a short black pipe. As they approached he
took it out of his mouth and spat.
‘Morning, Longshanks!’ he said. ‘Off early? Found some friends
at last?’ Strider nodded, but did not answer.
‘Morning, my little friends!’ he said to the others. ‘I suppose you
know who you’ve taken up with? That’s Stick-at-naught Strider, that
is! Though I’ve heard other names not so pretty. Watch out tonight!
And you, Sammie, don’t go ill-treating my poor old pony! Pah!’ He
spat again.
Sam turned quickly. ‘And you, Ferny,’ he said, ‘put your ugly face
out of sight, or it will get hurt.’ With a sudden flick, quick as lightning,
an apple left his hand and hit Bill square on the nose. He ducked
too late, and curses came from behind the hedge. ‘Waste of a good
apple,’ said Sam regretfully, and strode on.
At last they left the village behind. The escort of children and
stragglers that had followed them got tired and turned back at the
South-gate. Passing through, they kept on along the Road for some
miles. It bent to the left, curving back into its eastward line as it
rounded the feet of Bree-hill, and then it began to run swiftly down-
wards into wooded country. To their left they could see some of the
houses and hobbit-holes of Staddle on the gentler south-eastern
slopes of the hill; down in a deep hollow away north of the Road
there were wisps of rising smoke that showed where Combe lay;
Archet was hidden in the trees beyond.
After the Road had run down some way, and had left Bree-hill
standing tall and brown behind, they came on a narrow track that
led off towards the North. “This is where we leave the open and take
to cover,’ said Strider.
‘Not a “short cut’’, hope,’ said Pippin. ‘Our last short cut through
woods nearly ended in disaster.’
‘Ah, but you had not got me with you then,’ laughed Strider. ‘My
cuts, short or long, don’t go wrong.’ He took a look up and down
the Road. No one was in sight; and he led the way quickly down
towards the wooded valley.
His plan, as far as they could understand it without knowing the
country, was to go towards Archet at first, but to bear right and pass
it on the east, and then to steer as straight as he could over the wild
lands to Weathertop Hill. In that way they would, if all went well,
cut off a great loop of the Road, which further on bent southwards
182 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
to avoid the Midgewater Marshes. But, of course, they would have
to pass through the marshes themselves, and Strider’s description of
them was not encouraging.
However, in the meanwhile, walking was not unpleasant. Indeed,
if it had not been for the disturbing events of the night before, they
would have enjoyed this part of the journey better than any up to
that time. The sun was shining, clear but not too hot. The woods in
the valley were still leafy and full of colour, and seemed peaceful
and wholesome. Strider guided them confidently among the many
crossing paths, although left to themselves they would soon have
been at a loss. He was taking a wandering course with many turns
and doublings, to put off any pursuit.
‘Bill Ferny will have watched where we left the Road, for certain,’
he said; ‘though I don’t think he will follow us himself. He knows
the land round here well enough, but he knows he is not a match
for me in a wood. It is what he may tell others that I am afraid of. I
don’t suppose they are far away. If they think we have made for
Archet, so much the better.’
Whether because of Strider’s skill or for some other reason, they saw
no sign and heard no sound of any other living thing all that day:
neither two-footed, except birds; nor four-footed, except one fox and
a few squirrels. The next day they began to steer a steady course
eastwards; and still all was quiet and peaceful. On the third day out
from Bree they came out of the Chetwood. The land had been falling
steadily, ever since they turned aside from the Road, and they now
entered a wide flat expanse of country, much more difficult to man-
age. They were far beyond the borders of the Bree-land, out in the
pathless wilderness, and drawing near to the Midgewater Marshes.
The ground now became damp, and in places boggy and here and
there they came upon pools, and wide stretches of reeds and rushes
filled with the warbling of little hidden birds. They had to pick their
way carefully to keep both dry-footed and on their proper course. At
first they made fair progress, but as they went on, their passage
became slower and more dangerous. The marshes were bewildering
and treacherous, and there was no permanent trail even for Rangers
to find through their shifting quagmires. The flies began to torment
them, and the air was full of clouds of tiny midges that crept up their
sleeves and breeches and into their hair.
‘I am being eaten alive!’ cried Pippin. ‘Midgewater! There are
more midges than water!’
‘What do they live on when they can’t get hobbit?’ asked Sam,
scratching his neck.
They spent a miserable day in this lonely and unpleasant country.
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 183
Their camping-place was damp, cold, and uncomfortable; and the
biting insects would not let them sleep. There were also abominable
creatures haunting the reeds and tussocks that from the sound of
them were evil relatives of the cricket. There were thousands of them,
and they squeaked all round, neek-breek, breek-neek, unceasingly all
the night, until the hobbits were nearly frantic.
The next day, the fourth, was little better, and the night almost
as comfortless. Though the Neekerbreekers (as Sam called them)
had been left behind, the midges still pursued them.
As Frodo lay, tired but unable to close his eyes, it seemed to him
that far away there came a light in the eastern sky: it flashed and
faded many times. It was not the dawn, for that was still some hours
off.
‘What is the light?’ he said to Strider, who had risen, and was
standing, gazing ahead into the night.
‘I do not know,’ Strider answered. ‘It is too distant to make out.
It is like lightning that leaps up from the hill-tops.’
Frodo lay down again, but for a long while he could still see the
white flashes, and against them the tall dark figure of Strider, standing
silent and watchful. At last he passed into uneasy sleep.
They had not gone far on the fifth day when they left the last
straggling pools and reed-beds of the marshes behind them. The land
before them began steadily to rise again. Away in the distance east-
ward they could now see a line of hills. The highest of them was at
the right of the line and a little separated from the others. It had a
conical top, slightly flattened at the summit.
‘That is Weathertop,’ said Strider. “The Old Road, which we have
left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far
from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight
towards it. I suppose we had better do so.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frodo.
‘I mean: when we do get there, it is not certain what we shall find.
It is close to the Road.’
‘But surely we were hoping to find Gandalf there?’
“Yes; but the hope is faint. If he comes this way at all, he may not
pass through Bree, and so he may not know what we are doing. And
anyway, unless by luck we arrive almost together, we shall miss one
another; it will not be safe for him or for us to wait there long. If the
Riders fail to find us in the wilderness, they are likely to make for
Weathertop themselves. It commands a wide view all round. Indeed,
there are many birds and beasts in this country that could see us, as
we stand here, from that hill-top. Not all the birds are to be trusted,
and there are other spies more evil than they are.’
184 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The hobbits looked anxiously at the distant hills. Sam looked up
into the pale sky, fearing to see hawks or eagles hovering over them
with bright unfriendly eyes. ‘You do make me feel uncomfortable
and lonesome, Strider!’ he said.
‘What do you advise us to do?’ asked Frodo.
‘I think,’ answered Strider slowly, as if he was not quite sure, ‘I
think the best thing is to go as straight eastward from here as we can,
to make for the line of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike
a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop
from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see.’
All that day they plodded along, until the cold and early evening
came down. The land became drier and more barren; but mists and
vapours lay behind them on the marshes. A few melancholy birds
were piping and wailing, until the round red sun sank slowly into the
western shadows; then an empty silence fell. The hobbits thought of
the soft light of sunset glancing through the cheerful windows of Bag
End far away.
At the day’s end they came to a stream that wandered down from
the hills to lose itself in the stagnant marshland, and they went up
along its banks while the light lasted. It was already night when at
last they halted and made their camp under some stunted alder-trees
by the shores of the stream. Ahead there loomed now against the dusky
sky the bleak and treeless backs of the hills. That night they set a watch,
and Strider, it seemed, did not sleep at all. The moon was waxing, and
in the early night-hours a cold grey light lay on the land.
Next morning they set out again soon after sunrise. There was a
frost in the air, and the sky was a pale clear blue. The hobbits felt
refreshed, as if they had had a night of unbroken sleep. Already they
were getting used to much walking on short commons - shorter at
any rate than what in the Shire they would have thought barely
enough to keep them on their legs. Pippin declared that Frodo was
looking twice the hobbit that he had been.
‘Very odd,’ said Frodo, tightening his belt, ‘considering that there
is actually a good deal less of me. I hope the thinning process will
not go on indefinitely, or I shall become a wraith.’
‘Do not speak of such things!’ said Strider quickly, and with sur-
prising earnestness.
The hills drew nearer. They made an undulating ridge, often rising
almost to a thousand feet, and here and there falling again to low
clefts or passes leading into the eastern land beyond. Along the crest
of the ridge the hobbits could see what looked to be the remains of
green-grown walls and dikes, and in the clefts there still stood the
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 185
ruins of old works of stone. By night they had reached the feet of
the westward slopes, and there they camped. It was the night of the
fifth of October, and they were six days out from Bree.
In the morning they found, for the first time since they had left
the Chetwood, a track plain to see. They turned right and followed
it southwards. It ran cunningly, taking a line that seemed chosen so
as to keep as much hidden as possible from the view, both of the
hill-tops above and of the flats to the west. It dived into dells, and
hugged steep banks; and where it passed over flatter and more open
ground on either side of it there were lines of large boulders and
hewn stones that screened the travellers almost like a hedge.
‘I wonder who made this path, and what for,’ said Merry, as they
walked along one of these avenues, where the stones were unusually
large and closely set. ‘I am not sure that I like it: it has a — well,
rather a barrow-wightish look. Is there any barrow on Weathertop?’
‘No. There is no barrow on Weathertop, nor on any of these hills,’
answered Strider. “The Men of the West did not live here; though
in their latter days they defended the hills for a while against the evil
that came out of Angmar. This path was made to serve the forts along
the walls. But long before, in the first days of the North Kingdom, they
built a great watch-tower on Weathertop, Amon Sil they called it. It
was burned and broken, and nothing remains of it now but a tumbled
ring, like a rough crown on the old hill’s head. Yet once it was tall and
fair. It is told that Elendil stood there watching for the coming of Gil-
galad out of the West, in the days of the Last Alliance.’
The hobbits gazed at Strider. It seemed that he was learned in old
lore, as well as in the ways of the wild. ‘Who was Gil-galad?’ asked
Merry; but Strider did not answer, and seemed to be lost in thought.
Suddenly a low voice murmured:
Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.
His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven’s field
were mirrored in his silver shield.
But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star
in Mordor where the shadows are.
186 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
The others turned in amazement, for the voice was Sam’s.
‘Don’t stop!’ said Merry.
‘That’s all I know,’ stammered Sam, blushing. ‘I learned it from
Mr. Bilbo when I was a lad. He used to tell me tales like that, knowing
how I was always one for hearing about Elves. It was Mr. Bilbo as
taught me my letters. He was mighty book-learned was dear old
Mr. Bilbo. And he wrote poetry. He wrote what I have just said.’
‘He did not make it up,’ said Strider. ‘It is part of the lay that is
called The Fall of Gil-galad, which is in an ancient tongue. Bilbo must
have translated it. I never knew that.’
“There was a lot more,’ said Sam, ‘all about Mordor. I didn’t learn
that part, it gave me the shivers. I never thought I should be going
that way myself!’
‘Going to Mordor!’ cried Pippin. ‘I hope it won’t come to that!’
‘Do not speak that name so loudly!’ said Strider.
It was already mid-day when they drew near the southern end of
the path, and saw before them, in the pale clear light of the October
sun, a grey-green bank, leading up like a bridge on to the northward
slope of the hill. They decided to make for the top at once, while the
daylight was broad. Concealment was no longer possible, and they
could only hope that no enemy or spy was observing them. Nothing
was to be seen moving on the hill. If Gandalf was anywhere about,
there was no sign of him.
On the western flank of Weathertop they found a sheltered hollow,
at the bottom of which there was a bowl-shaped dell with grassy
sides. There they left Sam and Pippin with the pony and their packs
and luggage. The other three went on. After half an hour’s plodding
climb Strider reached the crown of the hill; Frodo and Merry fol-
lowed, tired and breathless. The last slope had been steep and rocky.
On the top they found, as Strider had said, a wide ring of ancient
stone-work, now crumbling or covered with age-long grass. But in
the centre a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were black-
ened as if with fire. About them the turf was burned to the roots and
all within the ring the grass was scorched and shrivelled, as if flames
had swept the hill-top; but there was no sign of any living thing.
Standing upon the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round
below them a wide prospect, for the most part of lands empty and
featureless, except for patches of woodland away to the south, beyond
which they caught here and there the glint of distant water. Beneath
them on this southern side there ran like a ribbon the Old Road,
coming out of the West and winding up and down, until it faded
behind a ridge of dark land to the east. Nothing was moving on it.
Following its line eastward with their eyes they saw the Mountains:
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 187
the nearer foothills were brown and sombre; behind them stood taller
shapes of grey, and behind those again were high white peaks glim-
mering among the clouds.
‘Well, here we are!’ said Merry. ‘And very cheerless and uninviting
it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf.
But I don’t blame him for not waiting — if he ever came here.’
‘I wonder,’ said Strider, looking round thoughtfully. ‘Even if he
was a day or two behind us at Bree, he could have arrived here first.
He can ride very swiftly when need presses.’ Suddenly he stooped
and looked at the stone on the top of the cairn; it was flatter than
the others, and whiter, as if it had escaped the fire. He picked it up
and examined it, turning it in his fingers. “This has been handled
recently,’ he said. ‘What do you think of these marks?’
On the flat under-side Frodo saw some scratches: Il. “There
seems to be a stroke, a dot, and three more strokes,’ he said.
“The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches,’
said Strider. ‘It might be a sign left by Gandalf, though one cannot
be sure. The scratches are fine, and they certainly look fresh. But the
marks might mean something quite different, and have nothing to
do with us. Rangers use runes, and they come here sometimes.’
‘What could they mean, even if Gandalf made them?’ asked Merry.
‘I should say,’ answered Strider, ‘that they stood for G3, and were
a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days
ago now. It would also show that he was in a hurry and danger was
at hand, so that he had no time or did not dare to write anything
longer or plainer. If that is so, we must be wary.’
‘I wish we could feel sure that he made the marks, whatever they
may mean,’ said Frodo. ‘It would be a great comfort to know that
he was on the way, in front of us or behind us.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Strider. ‘For myself, I believe that he was here,
and was in danger. There have been scorching flames here; and now
the light that we saw three nights ago in the eastern sky comes back
to my mind. I guess that he was attacked on this hill-top, but with
what result I cannot tell. He is here no longer, and we must now
look after ourselves and make our own way to Rivendell, as best we
can.’
‘How far is Rivendell?’ asked Merry, gazing round wearily. The
world looked wild and wide from Weathertop.
‘I don’t know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond
the Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey east of Bree,’ answered Strider.
‘Some say it is so far, and some say otherwise. It is a strange road,
and folk are glad to reach their journey’s end, whether the time is
long or short. But I know how long it would take me on my own
feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune: twelve days from here to
188 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
the Ford of Bruinen, where the Road crosses the Loudwater that
runs out of Rivendell. We have at least a fortnight’s journey before
us, for I do not think we shall be able to use the Road.’
‘A fortnight!’ said Frodo. ‘A lot may happen in that time.’
‘It may,’ said Strider.
They stood for a while silent on the hill-top, near its southward
edge. In that lonely place Frodo for the first time fully realized his
homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left
him in the quiet and beloved Shire. He stared down at the hateful
Road, leading back westward — to his home. Suddenly he was aware
that two black specks were moving slowly along it, going westward;
and looking again he saw that three others were creeping eastward
to meet them. He gave a cry and clutched Strider’s arm.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing downwards.
At once Strider flung himself on the ground behind the ruined
circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself along-
side.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
‘I do not know, but I fear the worst,’ answered Strider.
Slowly they crawled up to the edge of the ring again, and peered
through a cleft between two jagged stones. The light was no longer
bright, for the clear morning had faded, and clouds creeping out of
the East had now overtaken the sun, as it began to go down. They
could all see the black specks, but neither Frodo nor Merry could
make out their shapes for certain; yet something told them that there,
far below, were Black Riders assembling on the Road beyond the
foot of the hill.
‘Yes,’ said Strider, whose keener sight left him in no doubt. “The
enemy is here!’
Hastily they crept away and slipped down the north side of the
hill to find their companions.
Sam and Peregrin had not been idle. They had explored the small
dell and the surrounding slopes. Not far away they found a spring
of clear water in the hillside, and near it footprints not more than a
day or two old. In the dell itself they found recent traces of a fire,
and other signs of a hasty camp. There were some fallen rocks on
the edge of the dell nearest to the hill. Behind them Sam came upon
a small store of firewood neatly stacked.
‘I wonder if old Gandalf has been here,’ he said to Pippin. ‘Who-
ever it was put this stuff here meant to come back it seems.’
Strider was greatly interested in these discoveries. ‘I wish I had
waited and explored the ground down here myself,’ he said, hurrying
off to the spring to examine the footprints.
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 189
‘It is just as I feared,’ he said, when he came back. ‘Sam and
Pippin have trampled the soft ground, and the marks are spoilt or
confused. Rangers have been here lately. It is they who left the fire-
wood behind. But there are also several newer tracks that were not
made by Rangers. At least one set was made, only a day or two ago,
by heavy boots. At least one. I cannot now be certain, but I think there
were many booted feet.” He paused and stood in anxious thought.
Each of the hobbits saw in his mind a vision of the cloaked and
booted Riders. If the horsem*n had already found the dell, the sooner
Strider led them somewhere else the better. Sam viewed the hollow
with great dislike, now that he had heard news of their enemies on
the Road, only a few miles away.
‘Hadn’t we better clear out quick, Mr. Strider?’ he asked im-
patiently. ‘It is getting late, and I don’t like this hole: it makes my
heart sink somehow.’
“Yes, we certainly must decide what to do at once,’ answered
Strider, looking up and considering the time and the weather. ‘Well,
Sam,’ he said at last, ‘I do not like this place either; but I cannot
think of anywhere better that we could reach before nightfall. At least
we are out of sight for the moment, and if we moved we should be
much more likely to be seen by spies. All we could do would be to
go right out of our way back north on this side of the line of hills,
where the land is all much the same as it is here. The Road is watched,
but we should have to cross it, if we tried to take cover in the thickets
away to the south. On the north side of the Road beyond the hills
the country is bare and flat for miles.’
‘Can the Riders see?’ asked Merry. ‘I mean, they seem usually to
have used their noses rather than their eyes, smelling for us, if smelling
is the right word, at least in the daylight. But you made us lie down
flat when you saw them down below; and now you talk of being seen,
if we move.’
‘I was too careless on the hill-top,’ answered Strider. ‘I was very
anxious to find some sign of Gandalf; but it was a mistake for three
of us to go up and stand there so long. For the black horses can see,
and the Riders can use men and other creatures as spies, as we found
at Bree. They themselves do not see the world of light as we do, but
our shapes cast shadows in their minds, which only the noon sun
destroys; and in the dark they perceive many signs and forms that
are hidden from us: then they are most to be feared. And at all times
they smell the blood of living things, desiring and hating it. Senses,
too, there are other than sight or smell. We can feel their presence
— it troubled our hearts, as soon as we came here, and before we saw
them; they feel ours more keenly. Also,’ he added, and his voice sank
to a whisper, ‘the Ring draws them.’
190 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
‘Is there no escape then?’ said Frodo, looking round wildly. ‘If I
move I shall be seen and hunted! If I stay, I shall draw them to
me!’
Strider laid his hand on his shoulder. “There is still hope,’ he said.
“You are not alone. Let us take this wood that is set ready for the
fire as a sign. There is little shelter or defence here, but fire shall
serve for both. Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all
things, but these Riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it.
Fire is our friend in the wilderness.’
‘Maybe,’ muttered Sam. ‘It is also as good a way of saying “‘here
we are’’ as I can think of, bar shouting.’
Down in the lowest and most sheltered corner of the dell they lit
a fire, and prepared a meal. The shades of evening began to fall, and
it grew cold. They were suddenly aware of great hunger, for they had
not eaten anything since breakfast; but they dared not make more
than a frugal supper. The lands ahead were empty of all save birds
and beasts, unfriendly places deserted by all the races of the world.
Rangers passed at times beyond the hills, but they were few and did
not stay. Other wanderers were rare, and of evil sort: trolls might
stray down at times out of the northern valleys of the Misty Moun-
tains. Only on the Road would travellers be found, most often
dwarves, hurrying along on business of their own, and with no help
and few words to spare for strangers.
‘I don’t see how our food can be made to last,’ said Frodo. ‘We
have been careful enough in the last few days, and this supper is no
feast; but we have used more than we ought, if we have two weeks
still to go, and perhaps more.’
‘There is food in the wild,’ said Strider; ‘berry, root, and herb;
and I have some skill as a hunter at need. You need not be afraid of
starving before winter comes. But gathering and catching food is long
and weary work, and we need haste. So tighten your belts, and think
with hope of the tables of Elrond’s house!’
The cold increased as darkness came on. Peering out from the
edge of the dell they could see nothing but a grey land now vanishing
quickly into shadow. The sky above had cleared again and was slowly
filled with twinkling stars. Frodo and his companions huddled round
the fire, wrapped in every garment and blanket they possessed; but
Strider was content with a single cloak, and sat a little apart, drawing
thoughtfully at his pipe.
As night fell and the light of the fire began to shine out brightly
he began to tell them tales to keep their minds from fear. He knew
many histories and legends of long ago, of Elves and Men and the
A KNIFE IN THE DARK I9QI
good and evil deeds of the Elder Days. They wondered how old he
was, and where he had learned all this lore.
‘Tell us of Gil-galad,’ said Merry suddenly, when he paused at
the end of a story of the Elf-kingdoms. ‘Do you know any more of
that old lay that you spoke of?’
‘I do indeed,’ answered Strider. ‘So also does Frodo, for it con-
cerns us closely.’ Merry and Pippin looked at Frodo, who was staring
into the fire.
‘I know only the little that Gandalf has told me,’ said Frodo slowly.
‘Gil-galad was the last of the great Elf-kings of Middle-earth.
Gil-galad is Starlight in their tongue. With Elendil, the Elf-friend, he
went to the land of :
‘No!’ said Strider interrupting, ‘I do not think that tale should be
told now with the servants of the Enemy at hand. If we win through
to the house of Elrond, you may hear it there, told in full.’
“Then tell us some other tale of the old days,’ begged Sam; ‘a tale
about the Elves before the fading time. I would dearly like to hear
more about Elves; the dark seems to press round so close.’
‘I will tell you the tale of Tintviel,’ said Strider, ‘in brief — for it
is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now,
except Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old. It is a
fair tale, though it is sad, as are all the tales of Middle-earth, and yet
it may lift up your hearts.’ He was silent for some time, and then he
began not to speak but to chant softly:
The leaves were long, the grass was green,
The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,
And in the glade a light was seen
Of stars in shadow shimmering.
Tinuviel was dancing there
To music of a pipe unseen,
And light of stars was in her hair,
And in her raiment glimmering.
There Beren came from mountains cold,
And lost he wandered under leaves,
And where the Elven-river rolled
He walked alone and sorrowing.
He peered between the hemlock-leaves
And saw in wonder flowers of gold
Upon her mantle and her sleeves,
And her hair like shadow following.
192
THE LORD OF THE RINGS
Enchantment healed his weary feet
That over hills were doomed to roam;
And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,
And grasped at moonbeams glistening.
Through woven woods in Elvenhome
She lightly fled on dancing feet,
And left him lonely still to roam
In the silent forest listening.
He heard there oft the flying sound
Of feet as light as linden-leaves,
Or music welling underground,
In hidden hollows quavering.
Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,
And one by one with sighing sound
Whispering fell the beechen leaves
In the wintry woodland wavering.
He sought her ever, wandering far
Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,
By light of moon and ray of star
In frosty heavens shivering.
Her mantle glinted in the moon,
As on a hill-top high and far
She danced, and at her feet was strewn
A must of silver quivering.
When winter passed, she came again,
And her song released the sudden spring,
Like rising lark, and falling rain,
And melting water bubbling.
He saw the elven-flowers spring
About her feet, and healed again
He longed by her to dance and sing
Upon the grass untroubling.
Again she fled, but swift he came.
Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
He called her by her Elvish name;
And there she halted listening.
One moment stood she, and a spell
His voice laid on her: Beren came,
And doom fell on Tinuviel
That in his arms lay glistening.
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 193
As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.
Long was the way that fate them bore,
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of tron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.
Strider sighed and paused before he spoke again. “That is a song,’
he said, ‘in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves,
but is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough
echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Luthien
Tinuviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Luthien was the daughter of
Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middle-earth when the world was
young; and she was the fairest maiden that has ever been among all
the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the Northern
lands was her loveliness, and in her face was a shining light. In those
days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant,
dwelt in Angband in the North, and the Elves of the West coming
back to Middle-earth made war upon him to regain the Silmarils
which he had stolen; and the fathers of Men aided the Elves. But
the Enemy was victorious and Barahir was slain, and Beren escaping
through great peril came over the Mountains of Terror into the
hidden Kingdom of Thingol in the forest of Neldoreth. There he
beheld Luthien singing and dancing in a glade beside the enchanted
river Esgalduin; and he named her Tintviel, that is Nightingale in
the language of old. Many sorrows befell them afterwards, and they
were parted long. Tintviel rescued Beren from the dungeons of
Sauron, and together they passed through great dangers, and cast
down even the Great Enemy from his throne, and took from his iron
crown one of the three Silmarils, brightest of all jewels, to be the
bride-price of Luthien to Thingol her father. Yet at the last Beren
was slain by the Wolf that came from the gates of Angband, and he
died in the arms of Tinuviel. But she chose mortality, and to die
194 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
from the world, so that she might follow him; and it is sung that they
met again beyond the Sundering Seas, and after a brief time walking
alive once more in the green woods, together they passed, long ago,
beyond the confines of this world. So it is that Luthien Tinuviel alone
of the Elf-kindred has died indeed and left the world, and they have
lost her whom they most loved. But from her the lineage of the
Elf-lords of old descended among Men. There live still those of whom
Luthien was the foremother, and it is said that her line shall never
fail. Elrond of Rivendell is of that Kin. For of Beren and Luthien
was born Dior Thingol’s heir; and of him Elwing the White whom
Earendil wedded, he that sailed his ship out of the mists of the world
into the seas of heaven with the Silmaril upon his brow. And of
Earendil came the Kings of Numenor, that is Westernesse.’
As Strider was speaking they watched his strange eager face, dimly
lit in the red glow of the wood-fire. His eyes shone, and his voice
was rich and deep. Above him was a black starry sky. Suddenly a
pale light appeared over the crown of Weathertop behind him. The
waxing moon was climbing slowly above the hill that overshadowed
them, and the stars above the hill-top faded.
The story ended. The hobbits moved and stretched. ‘Look!’ said
Merry. “The Moon is rising: it must be getting late.’
The others looked up. Even as they did so, they saw on the top
of the hill something small and dark against the glimmer of the moon-
rise. It was perhaps only a large stone or jutting rock shown up by
the pale light.
Sam and Merry got up and walked away from the fire. Frodo and
Pippin remained seated in silence. Strider was watching the moon-
light on the hill intently. All seemed quiet and still, but Frodo felt a
cold dread creeping over his heart, now that Strider was no longer
speaking. He huddled closer to the fire. At that moment Sam came
running back from the edge of the dell.
‘I don’t know what it is,’ he said, ‘but I suddenly felt afraid. I
durstn’t go outside this dell for any money; I felt that something was
creeping up the slope.’
‘Did you see anything?’ asked Frodo, springing to his feet.
‘No, sir. I saw nothing, but I didn’t stop to look.’
‘I saw something,’ said Merry; ‘or I thought I did — away westwards
where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadow of
the hill-tops, I thought there were two or three black shapes. They
seemed to be moving this way.’
‘Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!’ cried Strider.
‘Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands!’
For a breathless time they sat there, silent and alert, with their
backs turned to the wood-fire, each gazing into the shadows that
A KNIFE IN THE DARK 195
encircled them. Nothing happened. There was no sound or move-
ment in the night. Frodo stirred, feeling that he must break the
silence: he longed to shout out aloud.
‘Hush!’ whispered Strider. ‘What’s that?’ gasped Pippin at the
same moment.
Over the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill, they
felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than one.
They strained their eyes, and the shadows seemed to grow. Soon
there could be no doubt: three or four tall black figures were standing
there on the slope, looking down on them. So black were they that
they seemed like black holes in the deep shade behind them. Frodo
thought that he heard a faint hiss as of venomous breath and felt a
thin piercing chill. Then the shapes slowly advanced.
Terror overcame Pippin and Merry, and they threw themselves
flat on the ground. Sam shrank to Frodo’s side. Frodo was hardly
less terrified than his companions; he was quaking as if he was bitter
cold, but his terror was swallowed up in a sudden temptation to put
on the Ring. The desire to do this laid hold of him, and he could
think of nothing else. He did not forget the Barrow, nor the message
of Gandalf; but something seemed to be compelling him to disregard
all warnings, and he longed to yield. Not with the hope of escape,
or of doing anything, either good or bad: he simply felt that he must
take the Ring and put it on his finger. He could not speak. He felt
Sam looking at him, as if he knew that his master was in some great
trouble, but he could not turn towards him. He shut his eyes and
struggled for a while; but resistance became unbearable, and at last
he slowly drew out the chain, and slipped the Ring on the forefinger
of his left hand.
Immediately, though everything else remained as before, dim and
dark, the shapes became terribly clear. He was able to see beneath
their black wrappings. There were five tall figures: two standing on
the lip of the dell, three advancing. In their white faces burned keen
and merciless eyes; under their mantles were long grey robes; upon
their grey hairs were helms of silver; in their haggard hands were
swords of steel. Their eyes fell on him and pierced him, as they rushed
towards him. Desperate, he drew his own sword, and it seemed to
him that it flickered red, as if it was a firebrand. Two of the figures
halted. The third was taller than the others: his hair was long and
gleaming and on his helm was a crown. In one hand he held a long
sword, and in the other a knife; both the knife and the hand that
held it glowed with a pale light. He sprang forward and bore down
on Frodo.
At that moment Frodo threw himself forward on the ground, and
he heard himself crying aloud: O Elbereth! Gilthoniel! At the same
196 THE LORD OF THE RINGS
time he struck at the feet of his enemy. A shrill cry rang out in the
night; and he felt a pain like a dart of poisoned ice pierce his left
shoulder. Even as he swooned he caught, as through a swirling mist,
a glimpse of Strider leaping out of the darkness with a flaming
brand of wood in either hand. With a last effort Frodo, dropping his
sword, slipped the Ring from his finger and closed his right hand tight
upon it.
