lord_rings.qxd

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  As evening fell they were drawing near to Frogmorton, a village right on the Road, about twenty-two miles from the Bridge. There they meant to stay the night; The Floating Log at Frogmorton was a good inn. But as they came to the east end of the village they met a barrier with a large board saying no road; and behind it stood a large band of Shirriffs with staves in their hands and feathers in their caps, looking both important and rather scared.

  ‘What’s all this?’ said Frodo, feeling inclined to laugh. This is what it is, Mr. Baggins, said the leader of the Shirriffs, a twofeather hobbit: ‘You’re arrested for Gate-breaking, and Tearing up of Rules, and Assaulting Gatekeepers, and Trespassing, and Sleeping in Shirebuildings without Leave, and Bribing Guards with Food.’

  ‘And what else?’ said Frodo.

  ‘That’ll do to go on with’, said the Shirriff-leader.

  ‘I can add some more, if you like it’, said Sam. ‘Calling your Chief Names, Wishing to punch his Pimply Face, and Thinking you Shirriffs look a lot of Tomfools.’

  ‘There now, Mister, that’ll do. It’s the Chief ’s orders that you’re to come along quiet. We’re going to take you to Bywater and hand you over to the Chief ’s Men; and when he deals with your case you can have your say. But if you don’t want to stay in the Lockholes any longer than you need, I should cut the say short, if I was you.’

  To the discomfiture of the Shirriffs Frodo and his companions all roared with laughter. ‘Don’t be absurd!’ said Frodo. ‘I am going where I please, and in my own time. I happen to be going to Bag End on business, but if you insist on going too, well that is your affair.’

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  ‘Very well, Mr. Baggins’, said the leader, pushing the barrier aside. ‘But don’t forget I’ve arrested you.’

  ‘I won’t’, said Frodo. ‘Never. But I may forgive you. Now I am not going any further today, so if you’ll kindly escort me to The Floating Log, I’ll be obliged.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Mr. Baggins. The inn’s closed. There’s a Shirriff-house at the far end of the village. I’ll take you there. ‘

  ‘All right’, said Frodo. ‘Go on and we’ll follow.’

  Sam had been looking the Shirriffs up and down and had spotted one that he knew. ‘Hey, come here Robin Smallburrow!’ he called. ‘I want a word with you.’

  With a sheepish glance at his leader, who looked wrathful but did not dare to interfere, Shirriff Smallburrow fell back and walked beside Sam, who got down off his pony.

  ‘Look here, Cock-robin!’ said Sam. ‘You’re Hobbiton-bred and ought to have more sense, coming a-waylaying Mr. Frodo and all. And what’s all this about the inn being closed?’

  ‘They’re all closed’, said Robin. ‘The Chief doesn’t hold with beer. Leastways that is how it started. But now I reckon it’s his Men that has it all. And he doesn’t hold with folk moving about; so if they will or they must, then they has to go to the Shirriff-house and explain their business.’

  ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself having anything to do with such nonsense’, said Sam. ‘You used to like the inside of an inn better than the outside yourself. You were always popping in, on duty or off.’

  ‘And so I would be still, Sam, if I could. But don’t be hard on me. What can I do? You know how I went for a Shirriff seven years ago, before any of this began. Gave me a chance of walking round the country and seeing folk, and hearing the news, and knowing where the good beer was. But now it’s different.’

  ‘But you can give it up, stop Shirriffing, if it has stopped being a respectable job’, said Sam.

  ‘We’re not allowed to’, said Robin.

  ‘If I hear not allowed much oftener’, said Sam, ‘I’m going to get angry.’

  ‘Can’t say as I’d be sorry to see it’, said Robin lowering his voice. ‘If we all got angry together something might be done. But it’s these Men, Sam, the Chief ’s Men. He sends them round everywhere, and if any of us small folk stand up for our rights, they drag him off to the Lockholes. They took old Flourdumpling, old Will Whitfoot the Mayor, first, and they’ve taken a lot more. Lately it’s been getting worse. Often they beat ‘em now.’

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  ‘Then why do you do their work far them?’ said Sam angrily. ‘Who sent you to Frogmorton?’

  ‘No one did. We stay here in the big Shirriff-house. We’re the First Eastfarthing Troop now. There’s hundreds of Shirriffs all told and they want more, with all these new rules. Most of them are in it against their will, but not all. Even in the Shire there are some as like minding other folk’s business and talking big. And there’s worse than that: there’s a few as do spy-work for the Chief and his Men.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s how you had news of us, is it?’

  ‘That’s right. We aren’t allowed to send by it now, but they use the old Quick Post service, and keep special runners at different points. One came in from Whitfurrows last night with a ‘secret message’, and another took it on from here. And a message came back this afternoon saying you was to be arrested and taken to Bywater, not direct to the Lockholes. The Chief wants to see you at once, evidently.’

  ‘He won’t be so eager when Mr. Frodo has finished with him’, said Sam. The Shirriff-house at Frogmorton was as bad as the Bridge-house. It had only one storey, but it had the same narrow windows, and it was built of ugly pale bricks, badly laid. Inside it was damp and cheerless, and supper was served on a long bare table that had not been scrubbed for weeks. The food deserved no better setting. The travellers were glad to leave the place. It was about eighteen miles to Bywater, and they set off at ten o’clock in the morning. They would have started earlier, only the delay so plainly annoyed the Shirriff-leader. The west wind had shifted northward and it was turning colder, but the rain was gone.

  It was rather a comic cavalcade that left the village, though the few folk that came out to stare at the ‘get-up’ of the travellers did not seem quite sure whether laughing was allowed. A dozen Shirriffs had been told off as escort to the ‘prisoners’; but Merry made them march in front, while Frodo and his friends rode behind. Merry, Pippin, and Sam sat at their ease laughing and talking and singing, while the Shirriffs stumped along trying to look stern and important. Frodo, however, was silent and looked rather sad and thoughtful.

  The last person they passed was a sturdy old gaffer clipping a hedge.

  ‘Hullo, hullo!’ he jeered. ‘Now who’s arrested who?’

  Two of the Shirriffs immediately left the party and went towards him.

  ‘Leader!’ said Merry. ‘Order your fellows back to their places at once, if you don’t want me to deal with them!’

  The two hobbits at a sharp word from the leader came back sulkily.

  ‘Now get on!’ said Merry, and after that the travellers saw to it that their 1016

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  ponies’ pace was quick enough to push the Shirriffs along as fast as they could go. The sun came out, and in spite of the chilly wind they were soon puffing and sweating.

  At the Three-Farthing Stone they gave it up. They had done nearly fourteen miles with only one rest at noon. It was now three o’clock. They were hungry and very footsore and they could not stand the pace.

  ‘Well, come along in your own time!’ said Merry. ‘We are going on.’

  ‘Goodbye, Cock-robin!’ said Sam. ‘I’ll wait for you outside The Green Dragon, if you haven’t forgotten where that is. Don’t dawdle on the way!’

  ‘You’re breaking arrest, that’s what you’re doing’, said the leader ruefully, ‘and I can’t be answerable.’

  ‘We shall break a good many things yet, and not ask you to answer ‘

  said Pippin. ‘Good luck to you!’

  The travellers trotted on, and as the sun began to sin
k towards the White Downs far away on the western horizon they came to Bywater by its wide pool; and there they had their first really painful shock. This was Frodo and Sam’s own country, and they found out now that they cared about it more than any other place in the world. Many of the houses that they had known were missing. Some seemed to have been burned down. The pleasant row of old hobbit-holes in the bank on the north side of the Pool were deserted, and their little gardens that used to run down bright to the water’s edge were rank with weeds. Worse, there was a whole line of the ugly new houses all along Pool Side, where the Hobbiton Road ran close to the bank. An avenue of trees had stood there. They were all gone. And looking with dismay up the road towards Bag End they saw a tall chimney of brick in the distance. It was pouring out black smoke into the evening air.

  Sam was beside himself. ‘I’m going right on, Mr. Frodo!’ he cried. ‘I’m going to see what’s up. I want to find my gaffer.’

  ‘We ought to find out first what we’re in for, Sam’, said Merry. ‘I guess that the ‘Chief ’ will have a gang of ruffians handy. We had better find someone who will tell us how things are round here.’

  But in the village of Bywater all the houses and holes were shut, and no one greeted them. They wondered at this, but they soon discovered the reason of it. When they reached The Green Dragon, the last house on the Hobbiton side, now lifeless and with broken windows, they were disturbed to see half a dozen large ill-favoured Men lounging against the inn-wall; they were squint-eyed and sallow-faced.

  ‘Like that friend of Bill Ferny’s at Bree’, said Sam.

  ‘Like many that I saw at Isengard’, muttered Merry.

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  The ruffians had clubs in their hands and horns by their belts, but they had no other weapons, as far as could be seen. As the travellers rode up they left the wall and walked into the road, blocking the way.

  ‘Where d’you think you’re going?’ said one, the largest and most evillooking of the crew. ‘There’s no road for you any further. And where are those precious Shirriffs?’

  ‘Coming along nicely’, said Merry. ‘A little footsore, perhaps. We promised to wait for them here.’

  ‘Garn, what did I say?’ said the ruffian to his mates. ‘I told Sharkey it was no good trusting those little fools. Some of our chaps ought to have been sent.’

  ‘And what difference would that have made, pray?’ said Merry. ‘We are not used to footpads in this country, but we know how to deal with them.’

  ‘Footpads, eh?’ said the man: ‘So that’s your tone, is it? Change it, or we’ll change it for you. You little folk are getting too uppish. Don’t you trust too much in the Boss’s kind heart. Sharkey’s come now and he’ll do what Sharkey says.’

  ‘And what may that be?’ said Frodo quietly.

  ‘This country wants waking up and setting to rights’, said the ruffian,

  ‘and Sharkey’s going to do it; and make it hard, if you drive him to it. You need a bigger Boss. And you’ll get one before the year is out, if there’s any more trouble. Then you’ll learn a thing or two, you little rat-folk.’

  ‘Indeed. I am glad to hear of your plans’, said Frodo. ‘I am on my way to call on Mr. Lotho, and he may be interested to hear of them too.’

  The ruffian laughed. ‘Lotho! He knows all right. Don’t you worry. He’ll do what Sharkey says. Because if a Boss gives trouble, we can change him. See? And if little folks try to push in where they’re not wanted, we can put them out of mischief. See?’

  ‘Yes, I see’, said Frodo. ‘For one thing, I see that you’re behind the times and the news here. Much has happened since you left the South. Your day is over, and all other ruffians’. The Dark Tower has fallen, and there is a King in Gondor. And Isengard has been destroyed, and your precious master is a beggar in the wilderness. I passed him on the road. The King’s messengers will ride up the Greenway now not bullies from Isengard.’

  The man stared at him and smiled. ‘A beggar in the wilderness!’ he mocked. ‘Oh, is he indeed? Swagger it, swagger it, my little cock-a-whoop. But that won’t stop us living in this fat little country where you have lazed long enough. And’ - he snapped his fingers in Frodo’s face - ‘King’s messengers! That for them! When I see one, I’ll take notice, perhaps.’

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  This was too much for Pippin. His thoughts went back to the Field of Cormallen, and here was a squint-eyed rascal calling the Ringbearer ‘little cock-a-whoop’. He cast back his cloak, flashed out his sword, and the silver and sable of Gondor gleamed on him as he rode forward.

  ‘I am a messenger of the King’, he said. ‘You are speaking to the King’s friend, and one of the most renowned in all the lands of the West. You are a ruffian and a fool. Down on your knees in the road and ask pardon, or I will set this troll’s bane in you!’

  The sword glinted in the westering sun. Merry and Sam drew their swords also and rode up to support Pippin; but Frodo did not move. The ruffians gave back. Scaring Breeland peasants, and bullying bewildered hobbits, had been their work. Fearless hobbits with bright swords and grim faces were a great surprise. And there was a note in the voices of these newcomers that they had not heard before. It chilled them with fear.

  ‘Go!’ said Merry. ‘If you trouble this village again, you will regret it.’

  The three hobbits came on, and then the ruffians turned and fled running away up the Hobbiton Road; but they blew their horns as they ran.

  ‘Well, we’ve come back none too soon’, said Merry.

  ‘Not a day too soon. Perhaps too late, at any rate to save Lotho’, said Frodo. ‘Miserable fool, but I am sorry for him.’

  ‘Save Lotho? Whatever do you mean?’ said Pippin. ‘Destroy him I should say.’

  ‘I don’t think you quite understand things, Pippin’, said Frodo. ‘Lotho never meant things to come to this pass. He has been a wicked fool, but he’s caught now. The ruffians are on top, gathering, robbing and bullying, and running or ruining things as they like, in his name. And not in his name even for much longer. He’s a prisoner in Bag End now, I expect, and very frightened. We ought to try and rescue him.’

  ‘Well I am staggered!’ said Pippin. ‘Of all the ends to our journey that is the very last I should have thought of: to have to fight half-orcs and ruffians in the Shire itself - to rescue Lotho Pimple!’

  ‘Fight?’ said Frodo. ‘Well, I suppose it may come to that. But remember: there is to be no slaying of hobbits, not even if they have gone over to the other side. Really gone over, I mean; not just obeying ruffians’ orders because they are frightened. No hobbit has ever killed another on purpose in the Shire, and it is not to begin now. And nobody is to be killed at all, if it can be helped. Keep your tempers and hold your hands to the last possible moment!’

  ‘But if there are many of these ruffians’, said Merry, ‘it will certainly mean fighting. You won’t rescue Lotho, or the Shire, just by being shocked and sad, my dear Frodo.’

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  ‘No’, said Pippin. ‘It won’t be so easy scaring them a second time. They were taken by surprise. You heard that horn-blowing? Evidently there are other ruffians near at hand. They’ll be much bolder when there’s more of them together. We ought to think of taking cover somewhere for the night. After all we’re only four, even if we are armed.’

  ‘I’ve an idea’, said Sam. ‘Let’s go to old Tom Cotton’s down South Lane! He always was a stout fellow. And he has a lot of lads that were all friends of mine.’

  ‘No!’ said Merry. ‘It’s no good ‘getting under cover’. That is just what people have been doing, and just what these ruffians like. They will simply come down on us in force, corner us, and then drive us out, or burn us in. No, we have got to do someth
ing at once.’

  ‘Do what?’ said Pippin.

  ‘Raise the Shire!’ said Merry. ‘Now! Wake all our people! They hate all this, you can see: all of them except perhaps one or two rascals, and a few fools that want to be important, but don’t at all understand what is really going on. But Shirefolk have been so comfortable so long they don’t know what to do. They just want a match, though, and they’ll go up in fire. The Chief ’s Men must know that. They’ll try to stamp on us and put us out quick. We’ve only got a very short time.

  ‘Sam, you can make a dash for Cotton’s farm, if you like. He’s the chief person round here, and the sturdiest. Come on! I am going to blow the horn of Rohan, and give them all some music they have never heard before.’

  They rode back to the middle of the village. There Sam turned aside and galloped off down the lane that led south to Cotton’s. He had not gone far when he heard a sudden clear horn-call go up ringing into the sky. Far over hill and field it echoed; and so compelling was that call that Sam himself almost turned and dashed back. His pony reared and neighed.

  ‘On, lad! On!’ he cried. ‘We’ll be going back soon.’

  Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the Horn-cry of Buckland, shaking the air.

  Awake! Awake! Fear, Fire, Foes! Awake!

  Fire, Foes! Awake!

  Behind him Sam heard a hubbub of voices and a great din and slamming of doors. In front of him lights sprang out in the gloaming; dogs barked; feet came running. Before he got to the lane’s end there was Farmer Cotton with three of his lads, Young Tom, Jolly, and Nick, hurrying towards him. They had axes in their hands, and barred the way. 1020

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