Wild West Podcast
Welcome to the Wild West podcast, where fact and legend merge. We present the true accounts of individuals who settled in towns built out of hunger for money, regulated by fast guns, who walked on both sides of the law, patrolling, investing in, and regulating the brothels, saloons, and gambling houses. These are stories of the men who made the history of the Old West come alive - bringing with them the birth of legends, brought to order by a six-gun and laid to rest with their boots on. Join us as we take you back in history to the legends of the Wild West.
Wild West Podcast
Frozen Promises: The Haunting Tale of Sam McGee and Friendship in the Arctic Wilds
What happens when a promise binds you to a chilling task in the heart of the Arctic wilderness? Grab your parka and prepare for an eerie journey as we explore Robert W. Service's iconic poem, "The Cremation of Sam McGee." Join us as we unravel the captivating narrative inspired by Service's real-life friend, Dr. Leonard Sugden, who faced the impossible task of cremating a miner's body in the frozen Yukon. Through the haunting and mysterious events depicted in the poem, we invite you to reflect on the profound bonds of friendship and the surprising ways hope can manifest in life's coldest moments.
Through the artful storytelling of Service, we embark on a gripping exploration of reality and acceptance amidst the unforgiving backdrop of the Klondike Gold Rush. The poem's fascinating blend of fiction and reality comes alive as the northern lights illuminate this unforgettable tale. Discover how the tale of Sam McGee is not just about survival, but also about finding warmth and solace in the most unexpected of places. This episode promises to leave you pondering the transformative power of embracing harsh realities and finding unexpected hope, even when the world seems frozen in despair.
Everything in a life's experience is true, to the sometimes harshness of realities. What about you? Do you embrace it or do you try to ignore what is true to your own realities? Do you embrace it or do you try to ignore what is true to your own realities? Nothing comes from the denial of a presence, but everything comes from accepting one's existence.
Speaker 1:The following is a narrative poem written by Robert Service, composed during the Klondike Gold Rush of 1896 to 1899. It is the story of two friends mushing their way along the Dawson Trail scavenging for gold. Even though the story, in poetic terms, starts to be a grim tale, it leads to wonder, something that sparkles to the disparity of hope on the eve of a Christmas day. Service, like his stories, was a wanderer who rarely settled for long in one place. In 1895, he made his way to British Columbia, worked as a store clerk in Cowichan Bay and wrote poems and published them in the Daily Colonist, a Victorian newspaper. By 1903, he was working at a bank in Victoria. Head office sent him off to the new small town of Whitehorse, established in the frenzy of the Klondike Gold Rush and now in need of a bank. This is where he found the words to a ballad you are about to hear.
Speaker 1:Wild West Podcast proudly presents the Cremation of Sam McGee, which is dedicated to Penny, the producer's sister-in-law. The Cremation of Sam McGee published in 1907. 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 LaBarge, I cremated Sam McGee.
Speaker 1: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, talky or cold. Through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail. If our eyes we'd closed then the lashes froze till. Sometimes we couldn't see. It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
Speaker 1:And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow and the dogs were fed and the stars o'erhead 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 seems 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, clinging through to the bone.
Speaker 1: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-head that I couldn't get rid because of a promise given. It was last to the sleigh and it seemed to say you may tax your brawn and brains, but you promised me, true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains.
Speaker 1:Now, a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code. In the days to come, though, my lips were numb in my heart. How I cursed that load In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies round in a ring, 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 that 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.
Speaker 1:The trail was bad and I felt half mad but 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 LaBarge 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 I said with a sudden cry, is my crematorium. Some planks. I tore from the cabin floor and I lit the boiler fire. Some coal I found that was lying round 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.
Speaker 1: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 heat 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 Plum Tree down in Tennessee it's the first time I've been warm.
Speaker 1: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 LaBarge I cremated Sam McGee. The cremation of Sam McGee is among the most famous of Robert W Service's poems. It was published in 1907 in Songs of a Sourdough. A sourdough, in this sense, is a resident of the Yukon. The ballad is based in part on an experience of one of Service's close friends, dr Leonard Sudgen, who had to cremate the body of a miner whom he found on an abandoned steamer. The Olive May Service makes it the Alice May because the ground was too frozen to go get some food. © transcript Emily.
Speaker 2:Beynon.