Chapter 123. Tall Hat finds our chosen path 

From what I can gather, Tall Hat has expected to find a stream along the way we are walking. Now he has stopped and is shading his eyes, looking from one side to the other. The smell that wafts to my nose on the wind brings no hint of water but only uncertainty, as if the land has changed somehow from what he has expected to see.

Seeing him stop, my hobbits slow their pace, and I hear Youngest whisper to the Master, ‘Are we lost? Has he gone astray?’

Master whispers back to him, ‘Gone astray? Gandalf? Nonsense, Pip! And don’t let him hear you say such a thing!’

Just beyond Youngest, who casts a fearful look at the wizard, I catch a glimpse of the Wood Elf’s face, shining with merriment as if my hobbits are telling the greatest jokes he’s ever heard in all his long years. (For Elves live long lives, I’ve come to understand, many many years, meaning many more than a pony could count. I’ve even heard Youngest tell my Sam that Elves live for ever, whatever that may be.)

For some reason, the Dwarf, who continued walking when Tall Hat stopped, raises his hand to point and then begins shouting and gesticulating for the rest of us to join him.

‘Come along Bill,’ my Sam says with a tug at my rope, but I am already moving, hoping for a satisfying drink if the Dwarf has found the wizard’s stream.

But no. When we reach the top of the knoll where the Dwarf stands, we see he is pointing to a deep and narrow channel below us, and it is empty and silent. What Tall Hat deemed a stream, to my eyes is barely a trickle, not even enough to wet my tongue even if we could make our way down to the bottom of the so-called stream-bed.

On the near side of the empty channel is an old, broken track that winds among ruined walls. Tall Hat says it used to be called the Gate-stream. I see neither gate nor stream, but then I am only a pony, and such things are beyond my understanding. But the paving stones stir a dim memory in my mind, and then cautiously-Merry exclaims, ‘It looks like an ancient highroad! Remember the track we followed out of Hollin?’

‘We must hurry on!’ Tall Hat is saying. ‘We are late.’ And so we must stumble on though we are weary, and my hobbits seem footsore. They are not well-suited to tread this dry, rocky ground. Indeed, I think they must miss the softness of sweet grass nearly so much as I do.

But the Other Big Man (the one with the shield) has quickened his pace to catch up with Tall Hat, and he boldly pulls at the wizard’s sleeve, halting him. I swivel my ears forwards to catch his soft, urgently-spoken words: ‘But the Sun has moved past noon, and the hobbits are lagging. I deem we must stop, to allow the little ones food and rest!’

My hobbits would bless him more for his mention of food and rest than for calling them little ones. His poor choice of words reveals the Man’s own weariness, for early on in our travels together, he learned enough from his growing acquaintance with my hobbits to call them “halflings”, at the very least, rather than “little ones”.

But Tall Hat orders a rest in any event. Perhaps he has also perceived the Other Big Man’s need for even the briefest of rests, along with some food to restore his energy.

Our Big Man, not to be outdone, gives me a handful of dried fruit from his own scanty meal and another portion of drinking water, this time volunteered by the Fair One from his flask. Like Our Big Man, the Wood Elf tells my hobbits to spare their water, to take a few sips themselves but not to pour water from their bottles into my – I mean my Sam’s – stewpot.

When I have finished licking up the last drop of water, our brief rest is over. My Samwise stows the pot, and we are on the move once more.

As we follow the winding, broken road, the smell of perturbation with a tinge of anxiety intensifies each time the fickle breeze carries Tall Hat’s scent back to us. But then, when we’ve walked for some time, we come to a sharp bend, and as the wizard rounds the corner ahead of us, his smell changes to surprise, or so it seems to me as we follow and turn the corner ourselves.

I lift my head and flare my nostrils, the better to sample the hint of water in the air here. Standing just beyond my Sam, the Master points and speaks for my Sam’s benefit. ‘Look! I think that wide cleft was carved out by a waterfall that flowed at one time, maybe a long time ago, one that was strong and swift and full.’

‘I can hardly imagine it, Mr Frodo,’ my Sam says, his eyes wide, and Master claps him on the shoulder.

‘Look closer and I’m sure you’ll see it, Sam,’ he says kindly. And so we stand there a moment, Master and my Sam side by side, with Master resting his hand on my Sam’s shoulder as if to encourage him, whilst my Sam stares his hardest. As we stand there, catching our breaths, Tall Hat tells us of his memories of this place. Behind us, I hear the somewhat-Merry hobbit tell Youngest to “sit down and have another sip of water”. And because I hear nothing more from them, I can easily imagine Youngest does as he has been told.

At last my Sam nods, as if satisfied, and then it is time for the party to move on. And I hear somewhat-Merry say, ‘Come along, Pip!’ and Youngest answer, ‘I wish you would make up your mind, Merry! Down! Up! Down!’

‘Well it’s “up” now!’ somewhat-Merry retorts, and because my ears are swivelled backwards, I hear Youngest scramble to his feet, and so I am comfortable to step out again into a walk when my Sam tugs at my rope.

When we come to some steps, not too long after, we stop once more. The Dwarf springs up the stairway as if the sight of the stairs has renewed his vigour. Meanwhile, Tall Hat holds a hand out to Master and says, ‘Come, Frodo, and let us see what we may.’

I watch them climb the stairs, all the way to the top, where we waiting here at the bottom can see them looking about and pointing, though if they are talking amongst themselves, no sound comes to our ears. 

I am uneasy. Dim in my memory is an impossible climb up a steep slope, the sharp cut of a stick on my flank, the sound of my Sam weeping. The stairs are narrow and steep. Too narrow. Too steep.

And then I feel the soothing touch of my Sam’s hand on my neck, and he murmurs, ‘Steady Bill. All will be well.’

And of course I must believe him. 

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Author notes:

Some thoughts here are derived from “A Journey in the Dark” in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien.

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