The Lord of the Rings Illustrated

by J. R. R. Tolkien; Alan Lee

  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 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 cocks 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.

  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:

  ‘It’s after three!’ he said.

  They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

  and bundled him into the Moon,

  While his horses galloped up in 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.

  The round Moon rolled behind the hill

  as the Sun raised 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 disappeared. 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.

  ‘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, ig
noring 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. ‘I’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! I’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 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 I’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, I’ll 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 faggots 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 forgotten 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 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 horsemen 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 horsemen were pursuing me; but now at any rate they seem to have missed me and to have gone away.’

  ‘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 amusement.’