The Hobbit

at hand in a jug! Come give us a taste of your sleeping-draught
     before we fall to! No need to wake the turnkey yonder. He has had his share by the looks of it.”
    Then they drank once round and became mighty merry all of a sudden. But they did not quite lose their wits. “Save us, Galion!”
     cried some, “you began your feasting early and muddled your wits! You have stacked some full casks here instead of the empty
     ones, if there is anything in weight.”
    “Get on with the work!” growled the butler. “There is nothing in the feeling of weight in an idle toss-pot’s arms. These are
     the ones to go and no others. Do as I say!”
    “Very well, very well,” they answered rolling the barrels to the opening. “On your head be it, if the king’s full buttertubs and his best wine is pushed into the river for
     the Lake-men to feast on for nothing!”
    Roll—roll—roll—roll,
    roll-roll-rolling down the hole!
    Heave ho! Splash plump!
    Down they go, down they bump!
    So they sang as first one barrel and then another rumbled to the dark opening and was pushed over into the cold water some
     feet below. Some were barrels really empty, some were tubs neatly packed with a dwarf each; but down they all went, one after
     another, with many a clash and a bump, thudding on top of ones below, smacking into the water, jostling against the walls
     of the tunnel, knocking into one another, and bobbing away down the current.
    It was just at this moment that Bilbo suddenly discovered the weak point in his plan. Most likely you saw it some time ago
     and have been laughing at him; but I don’t suppose you would have done half as well yourselves in his place. Of course he
     was not in a barrel himself, nor was there anyone to pack him in, even if there had been a chance! It looked as if he would
     certainly lose his friends this time (nearly all of them had already disappeared through the dark trap-door), and get utterly
     left behind and have to stay lurking as a permanent burglar in the elf-caves for ever. For even if he could have escaped through
     the upper gates at once, he had precious small chance of ever finding the dwarves again. He did not know the way by land to
     the place where the barrels were collected. He wondered what on earth would happen to them without him; for he had not had time to tell the dwarves all that he had learned,
     or what he had meant to do, once they were out of the wood.
    While all these thoughts were passing through his mind, the elves being very merry began to sing a song round the river-door.
     Some had already gone to haul on the ropes which pulled up the portcullis at the water-gate so as to let out the barrels as
     soon as they were all afloat below.
    Down the swift dark stream you go
    Back to lands you once did know!
    Leave the halls and caverns deep,
    Leave the northern mountains steep,
    Where the forest wide and dim
    Stoops in shadow grey and grim!
    Float beyond the world of trees
    Out into the whispering breeze,
    Past the rushes, past the reeds,
    Past the marsh’s waving weeds,
    Through the mist that riseth white
    Up from mere and pool at night!
    Follow, follow stars that leap
    Up the heavens cold and steep;
    Turn when dawn comes over land,
    Over rapid, over sand,
    South away! and South away!
    Seek the sunlight and the day,
    Back to pasture, back to mead,
    Where the kine and oxen feed!
    Back to gardens on the hills
    Where the berry swells and fills
    Under sunlight, under day!
    South away! and South away!
    Down the swift dark stream you go
    Back to lands you once did know!
    Now the very last barrel was being rolled to the doors! In despair and not knowing what else to do, poor little Bilbo caught
     hold of it and was pushed over the edge with it. Down into the water he fell, splash! into the cold dark water with the barrel
     on top of him.
    He came up again spluttering and clinging to the wood like a rat, but for all his efforts he could not scramble on top. Every
     time he tried, the barrel rolled round and ducked him under again. It was really empty, and floated light as a cork. Though
     his ears were full of water, he could hear the elves still singing in the cellar above. Then suddenly the trap-doors fell
     to with a boom and their voices faded away. He was in the dark tunnel floating in icy water, all alone—for you cannot count
     friends that are all packed up in barrels.
    Very soon a grey patch came in the darkness ahead. He heard the creak of the water-gate being