hobbit

expensive to keep, and their arrival had turned things into a long holiday in which
business was at a standstill.
"Let them go and bother Smaug, and see how he welcomes them!" he thought.
"Certainly, O Thorin Thrain's son Thror's son!" was what he said. "You must claim your
own. The hour is at hand, spoken of old. What help we can offer shall be yours, and we
trust to your gratitude when your kingdom is regained."
So one day, although autumn was now getting far on, and winds were cold, and leaves
were falling fast, three large boats left Lake-town, laden with rowers, dwarves, Mr.
Baggins, and many provisions. Horses and ponies had been sent round by circuitous
paths to meet them at their appointed landing-place.
The Master and his councillors bade them farewell from the great steps of the town-hall
that went down to the lake. People sang on the quays and out of windows. The white
oars dipped and splashed, and off they went north up the lake on the last stage of their
long journey. The only person thoroughly unhappy was Bilbo.
Chapter 11
On the Doorstep
In two days going they rowed right up the Long Lake and passed out into the River
Running, and now they could all see the Lonely Mountain towering grim and tall before
them. The stream was strong and their going slow. At the; end of the third day, some
miles up the river, they drew in to the left or western bank and disembarked. Here they
were joined by the horses with other provisions and necessaries and the ponies for their
own use that had been sent to meet them. They packed what they could on the ponies
and the rest was made into a store under a tent, but none of the men of the town would
stay with them even for the night so near the shadow of the Mountain.
"Not at any rate until the songs have come true!" said they. It was easier to believe in the
Dragon and less easy to believe in Thorin in these wild parts. Indeed their stores had no
need of any guard, for all the land was desolate and empty. So their escort left them,
making off swiftly down the river and the shoreward paths, although the night was
already drawing on.
They spent a cold and lonely night and their spirits fell. The next day they set out again.
Balin and Bilbo rode behind, each leading another pony heavily laden beside him; the
others were some way ahead picking out a slow road, for there were no paths. They
made north-west, slanting away from the River Running, and drawing ever nearer and
nearer to a great spur of the Mountain that was flung out southwards towards them.
It was a weary journey, and a quiet and stealthy one. There was no laughter or song or
sound of harps, and the pride and hopes which had stirred in their hearts at the singing
of old songs by the lake died away to a plodding gloom. They knew that they were
drawing near to the end of their journey, and that it might be a very horrible end. The
land about them grew bleak and barren, though once, as Thorin told them, it had been
green and fair. There was little grass, and before long there was neither bush nor tree,
and only broken and blackened stumps to speak of ones long vanished. They were
come to the Desolation of the Dragon, and they were come at the waning of the year.
They reached the skirts of the Mountain all the same without meeting any danger or any
sign of the Dragon other than the wilderness he had made about his lair. The Mountain
lay dark and silent before them and ever higher above them. They made their first camp
on the western side of the great southern spur, which ended in a height called Ravenhill.
On this there had been an old watch-post; but they dared not climb it yet, it was too
exposed.