The Hobbit

getting themselves and their ponies
     along. Still it was not very far to go, and before long they came to a big rock standing out into the path. If you stepped behind, you found a low arch in the side of the mountain. There was just room
     to get the ponies through with a squeeze, when they had been unpacked and unsaddled. As they passed under the arch, it was
     good to hear the wind and the rain outside instead of all about them, and to feel safe from the giants and their rocks. But
     the wizard was taking no risks. He lit up his wand—as he did that day in Bilbo’s dining-room that seemed so long ago, if you
     remember—, and by its light they explored the cave from end to end.
    It seemed quite a fair size, but not too large and mysterious. It had a dry floor and some comfortable nooks. At one end there
     was room for the ponies; and there they stood (mighty glad of the change) steaming, and champing in their nosebags. Oin and
     Gloin wanted to light a fire at the door to dry their clothes, but Gandalf would not hear of it. So they spread out their
     wet things on the floor, and got dry ones out of their bundles; then they made their blankets comfortable, got out their pipes
     and blew smoke rings, which Gandalf turned into different colours and set dancing up by the roof to amuse them. They talked
     and talked, and forgot about the storm, and discussed what each would do with his share of the treasure (when they got it,
     which at the moment did not seem so impossible); and so they dropped off to sleep one by one. And that was the last time that
     they used the ponies, packages, baggages, tools and paraphernalia that they had brought with them.
    It turned out a good thing that night that they had brought little Bilbo with them, after all. For, somehow, he could not
     go to sleep for a long while; and when he did sleep, he had very nasty dreams. He dreamed that a crack in the wall at the back of the cave got bigger and bigger, and
     opened wider and wider, and he was very afraid but could not call out or do anything but lie and look. Then he dreamed that
     the floor of the cave was giving way, and he was slipping—beginning to fall down, down, goodness knows where to.
    At that he woke up with a horrible start, and found that part of his dream was true. A crack had opened at the back of the
     cave, and was already a wide passage. He was just in time to see the last of the ponies’ tails disappearing into it. Of course
     he gave a very loud yell, as loud a yell as a hobbit can give, which is surprising for their size.
    Out jumped the goblins, big goblins, great ugly-looking goblins, lots of goblins, before you could say
rocks and blocks
. There were six to each dwarf, at least, and two even for Bilbo; and they were all grabbed and carried through the crack,
     before you could say
tinder and flint
. But not Gandalf. Bilbo’s yell had done that much good. It had wakened him up wide in a splintered second, and when goblins
     came to grab him, there was a terrific flash like lightning in the cave, a smell like gunpowder, and several of them fell
     dead.
    The crack closed with a snap, and Bilbo and the dwarves were on the wrong side of it! Where was Gandalf? Of that neither they
     nor the goblins had any idea, and the goblins did not wait to find out. They seized Bilbo and the dwarves and hurried them
     along. It was deep, deep, dark, such as only goblins that have taken to living in the heart of the mountains can see through.
     The passages there were crossed and tangled in all directions, but the goblins knew their way, as well as you do to the nearest post-office; and the way went down and down, and it was most horribly stuffy. The goblins
     were very rough, and pinched unmercifully, and chuckled and laughed in their horrible stony voices; and Bilbo was more unhappy
     even than when the troll had picked him up by his toes. He wished again and again for his nice bright hobbit-hole. Not for
     the last time.
    Now there came a glimmer of a red light before them. The goblins began to sing, or croak, keeping time with the flap of their
     flat feet on the stone, and shaking their prisoners as well.
    Clap! Snap! the black crack!
    Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
    And down down to Goblin-town
        You go, my lad!
    Clash, crash! Crush, smash!
    Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs! Pound, pound, far underground!
        Ho, ho! my lad!
    Swish, smack! Whip crack!
    Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat! Work, work! Nor dare to