A SMALL INCIDENT ON THE GREAT RIVER…

It was the sixth day of their journey from Lothlórien. Or night. Travelling by night again, Sam thought, did make a body confused; but anyway, it was coming up day, as the grey light of dawn began to break, and Strider gave the signal that they would be stopping as soon as he found a good spot to bring the boats up.

Sam looked over at Mr. Frodo, as he helped Strider to paddle, and then over at the other boats. Mr. Merry was helping Boromir, and even Mr. Gimli had got the hang of paddling. Mr. Pippin didn’t paddle, but that was because even with the shortened oars his arms weren’t long enough. But Mr. Pippin wasn’t afraid of the water, and always helped to beach the boats and unload them. He glanced nervously at the River, and towards the shore. Well, it wasn’t no deeper at the edges than the Water back home, and he’d done his bit of wading there as a lad. He was tired of feeling useless--this morning when they stopped, he made his mind to help, too. They’d be in these boats a few more days, surely, and it was time he pulled his weight.

Strider raised up his arm, in the signal they were using, and then pointed to a small grassy area where the bank came right up. There was a dead tree there, it’s upper limbs a-laying in the water, and a good bit of shrubbery growing near, that would hide them from prying eyes when they made camp. Sam wondered if there was a good spot to keep a fire hidden. Strider wasn’t as bad as poor old Mr. Gandalf had been about fires. As long as Sam could keep it from smoking and keep it out of sight, he didn’t mind.

The boats were angled against the current, so they could come up out of the water at the right spot. That always seemed to Sam to make them a bit more wobbly than they were to begin with, and his knuckles went white as he gripped the front of the seat to either side of him.

As the front end of Boromir’s boat began to bump against the bottom, Merry and Pippin jumped over one side, and Boromir stepped out over the other, and they pulled it up.

Legolas and Gimli were a bit further back, but Legolas waved an arm, to show they would be there in a moment.

Now the boat Sam was in bumped, and his insides wobbled a bit, but as Mr. Frodo and Strider jumped out, he steeled himself, and placing both hands on the side, jumped out as well. Mr. Frodo looked back, and gave him a look of pleased surprise. The water only came up to his knees here. Not too bad. He gripped the side as he saw his master doing, with Strider on the other side, and they pulled up.

Then suddenly, as Sam put his right foot down in the water, a sharp pain lanced through his foot. With a gasp, he let go. It was only with difficulty that he kept from crying out.

Frodo turned, alarmed. “Sam?”

“My foot,” he managed to gasp out. Frodo let go of the boat instantly, and took his friend by the arm.

“Aragorn!” Frodo said sharply.

The boat was up enough that the Man could let go. He stepped over it quickly, and picked Sam up in his strong arms.

Merry and Pippin rushed over. “What’s happened to Sam?” asked Merry.

Frodo had tried to see Sam’s foot as Aragorn walked over and sat on the trunk of the fallen tree, but had to give up as the Man was moving too quickly. “Something to do with his foot!” answered Frodo.

“I’m that sorry, Strider,” Sam gasped, as Aragorn set him down next to him and lifted his foot.

It was a splinter. It was a good three to four inches long, and had gone deeply into the ball of his foot.

The other three hobbits stared. Frodo grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it.

“Thunder!” said Pippin. “You’ve got a log in your foot, Sam!”

Merry jabbed his younger cousin with an elbow. “Pip!”

Aragorn suppressed a smile. “It’s not so bad as that, Sam, but I shall have to get it out. Frodo, would you get my small satchel?” He referred to the small bag where he kept his herbs and medical tools.

Frodo let go of Sam, and raced back over to the boat. By this time Boromir, Legolas and Gimli were all gathered around as well. Frodo had not even noticed Legolas and Gimli arrive. He grabbed the small bag Aragorn had spoken of and dashed back.

Sam’s face was white and pinched. It was clear that the splinter was extremely painful. He flinched and his foot jerked, as Aragorn probed around it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t seem to help it.”

“Of course you cannot, Sam.” Aragorn looked into the satchel as Frodo proffered it, and took out an even smaller pouch. He opened and took out a pair of pincers. He looked at Sam. “I am afraid this will be painful.”

Sam nodded, wide-eyed.

Aragorn got a grip on one end of the splinter, and yanked as hard as he could, and brought forth the jagged piece of wood.

He held it out, and Sam took it. It was a good four inches long, but it had felt much larger. His foot twitched again as Aragorn began to clean the blood from it.

“Frodo, there is a small white jar. Would you please get that out and open it?”

Frodo did so, and Aragorn took a fingerful of the aromatic salve, and applied it to the wound. “And now I need the linen bandage.” For he kept a roll of boiled linen strips in a small waxed pouch. Frodo found it, and Aragorn bound Sam’s foot. Then he smiled at Sam, who was looking thoroughly abashed and embarrassed. “Sam, you are going to need to stay off that foot as much as possible for a couple of days--”

“A couple of days!” he burst out. “But what about the cooking? And who will--”

“Sam.” Frodo said his name firmly. Sam subsided, but looked mutinous.

“Sam,” Merry put in, “Pip and I may not be as good as you, but we can perfectly well make breakfast--and supper. We *do* know how to cook you know.”

“That’s right,” said Frodo.

Aragorn nodded. “It’s a good thing we are travelling by boat. You won’t have to do any walking. And I should think that it will be all right in two days or three at the most.” He looked up at the others. “We should get camp set up. I think behind the shrubs, near that copse of trees over there.” He pointed to an area about thirty feet in distance from the water.

“Yes,” said Boromir. “An excellent spot. It will provide cover from any prying eyes on the other shore.” He turned and began to take up some of the provisions from the boats. Gimli followed suit. Merry and Pippin had already gone in search of firewood.

Legolas looked at Aragorn, and then said, “Come Master Samwise, I shall carry you over to the campsite.”

“Mr. Legolas!” It just wouldn’t be right for an Elf to be carrying the likes of him around!

“Sam, be a good fellow and cooperate.” Frodo was concerned for Sam, yet amused by his dilemma. It was so seldom that Sam ever was in need of cosseting that he simply did not know how to take it.

Short of defying his master, Sam could not object further, and submitted to Legolas picking him up.

Frodo and Aragorn watched him, and then Frodo helped Aragorn to pack up his medical supplies. “Thank you,” he said.

“What? For getting the splinter out? I assure you it was no trouble at all.”

“Perhaps not. But I am grateful all the same.”

They dined on soup that morning, and Merry and Pippin were complimented on how tasty it was. They had not, however tried to make griddle bread to accompany it. “No need to push our luck,” said Merry. Baking in an oven was one thing, but baking over a campfire was tricky at best.

Later that morning, as the four hobbits huddled together in their blankets, Sam tried once more to apologize. “I so sorry, sirs, to be so much trouble,” he started.

Merry huffed, and said “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Sam!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Pippin, “I’m sure the silly ass thrust a tree in his foot on purpose so he could eat our cooking.”

Sam found himself snickering in spite of himself. “I think I could have found a less painful way to do that, Mr. Pippin.” He sobered up though. “I just wanted to be useful.”

Frodo, who had been quiet during the earlier exchange, simply lying there with his arm across Sam’s chest, shook his head. “Useful? Sam, you’ve no idea. You are quite the most useful person on this journey. Now let’s be quiet and get some sleep.”

There was a bit more gentle shifting and the hobbits gradually drifted off into slumber. Sam lay awake for a short while, feeling unexpectedly gratified at his master’s words. “Sam Gamgee,” he told himself, before he fell asleep as well, “you are a ninnyhammer and make no mistake. But you have some good friends.”