Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold.

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee

Where the cotton blooms and blows

Why he left his home in the South to roam

'Round the Pole God only knows.

He was always cold but the land of gold

Seemed to hold him like a spell

Though he'd often say in his homely way

That he'd sooner live in hell.

On a Christmas Day we were mushing

Our way over the Dawson trail

Talk of your cold through the parka's fold

It stabbed like a driven nail.

If our eyes we'd close then the lashes froze

Till sometimes we couldn't see

It wasn't much fun but the only one

To whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night as we lay packed tight

In our robes beneath the snow

And the dogs were fed and the stars o'er head

Were dancing heel and toe.

He turned to me and Cap says he

I'll cash in this trip I guess

And if I do I'm asking that you

Won't refuse my last request.

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no

Then he says with a sort of moan

It's the cursed cold and it's got right hold

Till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.

Yet taint being dead it's my awful dread

Of the icy grave that pains

So I want you to swear that foul or fair

You'll cremate my last remains.

A pal's last need is a thing to heed

So I swore I would not fail

And we started on at the streak of dawn

But God, he looked ghastly pale.

He crouched on the sleigh and he raved all day

Of his home in Tennessee

And before nightfall a corpse

Was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death

And I hurried horror-driven

With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid

Because of a promise given.

It was lashed to the sleigh and it seemed to say

You may tax your brawn and brains

But you promised true and it's up to you

To cremate those last remains.

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid

And the trail has it's own stern code

In the days to come though my lips were dumb

In my heart how I cursed that load.

In the long, long night by the lone firelight

While the huskies round in a ring

Howled out their woes to the homeless snows

Oh God, how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay

Seemed to heavy and heavier grow

And on I went though the dogs were spent

And the grub was getting low.

The trail was bad and I felt half mad

But I swore I would not give in

And I'd often sing to the hateful thing

And it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge

And a derelict there lay

It was jammed in the ice but I saw in a trice

It was called the Alice May.

And I looked at it and I thought a bit

And I looked at my frozen chum

Then here said I with a sudden cry

Is my crematoreum.

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor

And I lit the boiler fire

Some coal I found that was lying around

And I heaped the fuel higher.

The flames just soared and the furnace roared

Such a blaze you seldom see

And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal

And I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike for I didn't like

To hear him sizzle so

And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled

And the wind began to blow.

It was icy cold but the hot sweat rolled

Down my cheeks and I don't know why

And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak

Went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow

I wrestled with grisly fear

But the stars came out and they danced about

Ere again I ventured near.

I was sick with dread but I bravely said

I'll just take a peep inside

I guess he's cooked and it's time I looked

Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam looking cool and calm

In the heart of the furnace roar

And he wore a smile you could see a mile

And he said please close that door.

It's fine in here but I greatly fear

You'll let in the cold and storm

Since I left Plumtree down in Tennessee

It's the first time I've been warm.

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold.

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee...