Sam was weary: weary from the effort of keeping
his balance all day in the tippy elven boat; weary at not feeling comfortable
for hours and not uttering a word of complaint; and weary because his concern
for Frodo was growing daily and required that he be ever watchful. In fact,
he thought, the only good part of being confined to the boats was that Frodo
could go nowhere without him.
Since leaving the woods of Lorien, his dear Frodo
had become quieter and quieter. Sam could feel in his bones that something
was weighing on Frodo’s mind, and he had a good idea what it was. For one
thing, the ring. The ring was becoming a harder burden by the day, Sam knew.
And for another, Boromir. That Boromir was behaving strange, too, distracted
like, and giving Frodo long looks, like he was thinking something not too
pleasant. Sam tried to keep close to Frodo, not letting Boromir or anyone
else bother him, tending to his needs before he knew he had them. In fact,
that worried him, too, that Mr. Frodo was tired enough to let him, without
arguing. But he worried most of all because he knew Frodo was in the middle
of making his decision to leave, to go on to Mordor with the ring, and he
was not about to let him slip away without him.
So as a result, when he had finished tending the
fire and preparing a bit of supper for them all, that late afternoon at Parth
Galen, poor Sam sat himself down beside Frodo, in the lee of the rock cliff,
and just closed his eyes for a second. Just for a second, he told himself.
But he was that weary that the second became a few minutes and longer, until
he fell into a fitful doze. He had no idea of time going by until he heard
Merry ask, ‘Where’s Frodo?’ The question wove itself into his dream for
a fraction of time, then jolted him awake.
Where’s Frodo? Frodo was never out of his sight!
He looked around quickly, and saw, as Strider did, Boromir’s empty shield.
‘How long’s he been gone!’ he cried, leaping to his feet. And where’s that
Boromir, he asked himself.
‘Too long,’ replied Aragorn, getting up to direct
a search; but the three hobbits took off helter skelter in all directions,
running into the woods calling out, ‘Frodo! Frodo!’
Sam’s heart pounded with worry and guilt. How
could you have fallen asleep, you duffer, he said to himself. You knew he
would try to slip away. You knew that Boromir might try something. For
a few minutes, he ran without thinking of his direction. He heard Aragorn
calling, ‘Sam, come with me to the top of Amon Hen.’ He began to follow
Strider, looking for signs of Frodo footprints, which he knew better than
his own. But the ground was dry, and Aragorn’s legs long, and he soon became
left behind.
Now where am I, he said to himself. I’m not up
the hill far enough to see anything, nor down it close enough to find him
if he tries to slip away. Now think, Samwise Gamgee. What might he be doing?
At that moment he heard a sound that sent a cold shiver from his head to
his wooly toes: the clash of steel on steel, and shouts high up the hillside.
Swords! ‘Mr. Frodo,’ he screamed. His first impulse was to run toward
the sound, but then he thought, he’ll have run from that. That will make
him see that it’s as plain as a pikestaff what he must do. And he’ll take
this chance to try to slip off by himself, he will, going without me and
all. That would be too cruel, Frodo!
Sam turned and pelted down the hill heading for
the edge of the river, as fast as his short legs would take him. ‘Mr. Frodo!’
he called again, this time a plea: “Frodo! Wait for me!’ He ran through
the last few trees toward the edge of the lake, already able to see that
one of the boats was missing. As he reached the lake, he kept right on going,
slowed down by the resistance of the water, but determined, striding toward
the boat in which he now could see Frodo.
‘Frodo!’ he called again. He received no reply but a soft, ‘No, Sam,’ but he kept wading deeper into the lake.
This time Frodo looked back toward him. ‘Go back, Sam. I’m going to Mordor alone!’
‘Of course you are, Mr. Frodo.’ Sam continued
wading toward the boat, getting deeper as he went. ‘And I’m going with you!’
He looked straight at Frodo, holding his arms up as the water quickly reached
to his chest.
‘Go back, Sam! You can’t swim!’ He could hear
the agony in Frodo’s voice, but neither hell nor high water was going to
keep him from getting in that boat. He struggled on, but the moving current
swept his feet out from under him, and he slipped under the surface. He
struggled back up, flailing his arms in a weak imitation of swimming, but
that kept him up for only a few moments. In one quick glance, Sam could
see that Frodo was turning the boat toward him, but he found himself unable
to make any headway in this alien environment, water, of which he had always
been deathly afraid.
Sam struggled to get his head above water again.
He heard Frodo cry ‘Sam!’ once again, his voice cracking, before he took
a quick gulp of air and started to sink below the roiling surface once more.
Now he felt too weak to struggle back up and he allowed himself to go still,
deep in his heart still believing Frodo would reach him. He remembered the
time Frodo had pulled him out of a tree into which he had climbed and become
stuck as a lad, and once when the two of them had run from Farmer Maggot’s
dog with a bag full of mushrooms. He thought, too, of how Frodo had encouraged
his love of learning, and of the time he had pushed him into Rosie’s arms.
But then he was struck with a sharp pang of regret,
that he wouldn’t be able to help his Mr. Frodo through the dark trek of Mordor,
that he would not be there to guide him and hold his hand when it became
too difficult to bear. Sam felt the water take form and embrace him, caressing
his hair gently, telling him he would find peace; so that when a hand reached
down and grasped his wrist, it took him a moment to understand what it was.
Frodo! he thought, and returned the pressure, kicking as Frodo pulled him
up and into the boat. He fell to the bottom of the boat, gasping for breath,
hit by the cold of the late winter air.
The two hobbits sat looking at each other, panting,
each filled with a mixture of emotions too complicated to express. “I made
a promise, Mr. Frodo,’ Sam said with an intensity Frodo had never heard from
him before. ‘Don’t you leave him, Samwise Gamgee. And I don’t mean to.’
He felt the tears stinging his eyes. ‘I don’t mean to.’
Sam could barely see Frodo through his tears.
‘Oh, Sam!’ cried Frodo, his voice strangled with emotion, his simple words
expressing his fear for Sam, his love, his relief that he would not be alone.
Sam wept with joy as Frodo flung his arms about him. I will look after
you all the way, he thought to himself as he hugged Frodo fiercely. Don’t
you ever doubt that.
