THE ESCAPE
AS the princess lay and sobbed, she kept feeling the thread
mechanically, following it with her finger many times up the stones in
which it disappeared. By and by she began, still mechanically, to poke
her finger in after it between the stones as far as she could. All at
once it came into her head that she might remove some of the stones and
see where the thread went next. Almost laughing at herself for never
having thought of this before, she jumped to her feet. Her fear
vanished: once more she was certain her grandmother's thread could not
have brought her there just to leave her there; and she began to throw
away the stones from the top as fast as she could, sometimes two or
three at a handful, sometimes taking both hands to lift one. After
clearing them away a little, she found that the thread turned and went
straight downward. Hence, as the heap sloped a good deal, growing of
course wider toward its base, she had to throw away a multitude of
stones to follow the thread. But this was not all, for she soon found
that the thread, after going straight down for a little way, turned
first sideways in one direction, then sideways in another, and then
shot, at various angles, hither and thither inside the heap, so that she
began to be afraid that to clear the thread, she must remove the whole
huge gathering. She was dismayed at the very idea, but, losing no time,
set to work with a will; and with aching back, and bleeding fingers and
hands, she worked on, sustained by the pleasure of seeing the heap
slowly diminish, and begin to show itself on the opposite side of the
fire. Another thing which helped to keep up her courage was, that as
often as she uncovered a turn of the thread, instead of lying loose upon
the stones, it tightened up; this made her sure that her grandmother was
at the end of it somewhere.
She had got about half way down when she started, and nearly fell with
fright. Close to her ear as it seemed, a voice broke out singing--
"Jabber, bother, smash!
You'll have it all in a crash.
Jabber, smash, bother!
You'll have the worst of the pother.
Smash, bother, jabber!--"
Here Curdie stopped, either because he could not find a rhyme to
_jabber_, or because he remembered what he had forgotten when he woke up
at the sound of Irene's labors, that his plan was to make the goblins
think he was getting weak. But he had uttered enough to let Irene know
who he was.
"It's Curdie!" she cried joyfully.
"Hush, hush!" came Curdie's voice again from somewhere. "Speak softly."
"Why, you were singing loud!" said Irene.
"Yes. But they know I am here, and they don't know you are. Who are
you?"
"I'm Irene," answered the princess. "I know who you are quite well.
You're Curdie."
"Why, how ever did you come here, Irene?"
"My great-great-grandmother sent me; and I think I've found out why. You
can't get out, I suppose?"
"No, I can't. What are you doing?"
"Clearing away a huge heap of stones."
"There's a princess!" exclaimed Curdie, in a tone of delight, but still
speaking in little more than a whisper. "I can't think how you got here,
though."
"My grandmother sent me after her thread."
"I don't know what you mean," said Curdie; "but so you're there, it
doesn't much matter."
"Oh, yes it does!" returned Irene. "I should never have been here but
for her."
"You can tell me all about it when we get out, then. There's no time to
lose now," said Curdie.
And Irene went to work, as fresh as when she began.
"There's such a lot of stones!" she said. "It will take me a long time
to get them all away."
"How far on have you got?" asked Curdie.
"I've got about the half way, but the other half is ever so much
bigger."
"I don't think you will have to move the lower half. Do you see a slab
laid up against the wall?"
Irene looked and felt about with her hands, and soon perceived the
outlines of the slab.
"Yes," she answered, "I do."
"Then, I think," rejoined Curdie, "when you have cleared the slab about
half way down, or a little more, I shall be able to push it over."
"I must follow my thread," returned Irene, "whatever I do."
"What _do_ you mean?" exclaimed Curdie.
"You will see when you get out of here," answered the princess, and then
she went on harder than ever.
But she was soon satisfied that what Curdie wanted done, and what the
thread wanted done, were one and the same thing. For she not only saw
that by following the turns of the thread she had been clearing the face
of the slab, but that, a little more than half way down, the thread went
through the chink between the slab and the wall into the place where
Curdie was confined, so that she could not follow it any farther until
the slab was out of her way. As soon as she found this, she said in a
right joyous whisper--
"Now, Curdie! I think if you were to give a great push, the slab would
tumble over."
"Stand quite clear of it then," said Curdie, "and let me know when you
are ready."
Irene got off the heap, and stood on one side of it.
"Now, Curdie!" she cried.
Curdie gave a great rush with his shoulder against it. Out tumbled the
slab on the heap, and out crept Curdie over the top of it.
"You've saved my life, Irene!" he whispered.
"Oh, Curdie! I'm so glad! Let's get out of this horrid place as fast as
we can."
"That's easier said than done," returned he.
"Oh, no! it's quite easy," said Irene. "We have only to follow my
thread. I am sure that it's going to take us out now."
She had already begun to follow it over the fallen slab into the hole,
while Curdie was searching the floor of the cavern for his pickaxe.
[Illustration: Curdie went on after her, flashing his torch about.]
"Here it is!" he cried. "No, it is not!" he added, in a disappointed
tone. "What can it be then?--I declare it's a torch. That _is_ jolly!
It's better almost than my pickaxe. Much better if it weren't for those
stone shoes!" he went on, as he lighted the torch by blowing the last
embers of the expiring fire.
When he looked up, with the lighted torch casting a glare into the great
darkness of the huge cavern, he caught sight of Irene disappearing in
the hole out of which he had himself just come.
"Where are you going there?" he cried. "That's not the way out. That's
where I couldn't get out."
"I know that," whispered Irene. "But this is the way my thread goes, and
I must follow it."
"What nonsense the child talks!" said Curdie to himself. "I must follow
her, though, and see that she comes to no harm. She will soon find she
can't get out that way, and then she will come with me."
So he crept once more over the slab into the hole with his torch in his
hand. But when he looked about in it, he could see her nowhere. And now
he discovered that although the hole was narrow, it was much larger than
he had supposed; for in one direction the roof came down very low, and
the hole went off in a narrow passage, of which he could not see the
end. The princess must have crept in there. He got on his knees and one
hand, holding the torch with the other, and crept after her. The hole
twisted about, in some parts so low that he could hardly get through,
in others so high that he could not see the roof, but everywhere it was
narrow--far too narrow for a goblin to get through, and so I presume
they never thought that Curdie might. He was beginning to feel very
uncomfortable lest he could not see the end. The princess when he heard
her voice almost close to his ear, whispering--
"Aren't you coming, Curdie?"
And when he turned the next corner, there she stood waiting for him.
"I knew you couldn't go wrong in that narrow hole, but now you must keep
by me, for here is a great wide place," she said.
"I can't understand it," said Curdie, half to himself, half to Irene.
"Never mind," she returned. "Wait till we get out."
Curdie, utterly astonished that she had already got so far, and by a
path he had known nothing of, thought it better to let her do as she
pleased.
"At all events," he said again to himself, "I know nothing about the
way, miner as I am; and she seems to think she does know something about
it, though how she should, passes my comprehension. So she's just as
likely to find her way as I am, and as she insists on taking the lead, I
must follow. We can't be much worse off than we are, anyhow."
Reasoning thus, he followed her a few steps, and came out in another
great cavern, across which Irene walked in a straight line, as
confidently as if she knew every step of the way. Curdie went on after
her, flashing his torch about, and trying to see something of what lay
around them. Suddenly he started back a pace as the light fell upon
something close by which Irene was passing. It was a platform of rock
raised a few feet from the floor and covered with sheep skins, upon
which lay two horrible figures asleep, at once recognized by Curdie as
the king and queen of the goblins. He lowered his torch instantly lest
the light should awake them. As he did so, it flashed upon his pickaxe,
lying by the side of the queen, whose hand lay close by the handle of
it.
"Stop one moment," he whispered. "Hold my torch, and don't let the light
on their faces."
Irene shuddered when she saw the frightful creatures whom she had passed
without observing them, but she did as he requested, and turning her
back, held the torch low in front of her. Curdie drew his pickaxe
carefully away, and as he did so, spied one of her feet, projecting from
under the skins. The great clumsy granite shoe, exposed thus to his
hand, was a temptation not to be resisted. He laid hold of it, and with
cautious efforts, drew it off. The moment he succeeded, he saw to his
astonishment that what he had sung in ignorance, to annoy the queen, was
actually true: she had six horrible toes. Overjoyed at his success, and
seeing by the huge bump in the sheep skins where the other foot was, he
proceeded to lift them gently, for, if he could only succeed in carrying
away the other shoe as well, he would be no more afraid of the goblins
than of so many flies. But as he pulled at the second shoe, the queen
gave a growl and sat up in bed. The same instant the king awoke also,
and sat up beside her.
"Run, Irene!" cried Curdie, for though he was not now in the least
afraid for himself, he was for the princess.
Irene looked once round, saw the fearful creatures awake, and like the
wise princess she was, dashed the torch on the ground and extinguished
it, crying out--
"Here, Curdie, take my hand."
He darted to her side, forgetting neither the queen's shoe nor his
pickaxe, and caught hold of her hand, as she sped fearlessly where her
thread guided her. They heard the queen give a great bellow; but they
had a good start, for it would be some time before they could get
torches lighted to pursue them. Just as they thought they saw a gleam
behind them, the thread brought them to a very narrow opening, through
which Irene crept easily, and Curdie with difficulty.
"Now," said Curdie; "I think we shall be safe."
"Of course we shall," returned Irene.
"Why do you think so?" asked Curdie.
"Because my grandmother is taking care of us."
"That's all nonsense," said Curdie. "I don't know what you mean."
"Then if you don't know what I mean, what right have you to call it
nonsense?" asked the princess, a little offended.
"I beg your pardon, Irene," said Curdie; "I did not mean to vex you."
"Of course not," returned the princess. "But why do _you_ think we shall
be safe?"
"Because the king and queen are far too stout to get through that hole."
"There may be ways round," said the other.
"To be sure there might; we are not out of it yet," acknowledged
Curdie.
"But what do you mean by the king and queen?" asked the princess. "I
should never call such creatures as those a king and a queen."
"Their own people do, though," answered Curdie.
The princess asked more questions, and Curdie, as they walked leisurely
along, gave her a full account, not only of the character and habits of
the goblins, so far as he knew them, but of his own adventures with
them, beginning from the very night after that in which he had met her
and Lootie upon the mountain. When he had finished, he begged Irene to
tell him how it was that she had come to his rescue. So Irene too had to
tell a long story, which she did in rather a roundabout manner,
interrupted by many questions concerning things she had not explained.
But her tale, as he did not believe more than half of it, left
everything as unaccountable to him as before, and he was nearly as much
perplexed as to what he must think of the princess. He could not believe
that she was deliberately telling stories, and the only conclusion he
could come to was that Lootie had been playing the child tricks,
inventing no end of lies to frighten her for her own purposes.
"But how ever did Lootie come to let you go into the mountain alone?" he
asked.
"Lootie knows nothing about it. I left her fast asleep--at least I think
so. I hope my grandmother won't let her get into trouble, for it wasn't
her fault at all, as my grandmother very well knows."
"But how did you find your way to me?" persisted Curdie.
"I told you already," answered Irene;--"by keeping my finger upon my
grandmother's thread, as I am doing now."
"You don't mean you've got the thread there?"
"Of course I do. I have told you so ten times already. I have
hardly--except when I was removing the stones--taken my finger off it.
There!" she added, guiding Curdie's hand to the thread, "you feel it
yourself--don't you?"
"I feel nothing at all," replied Curdie.
"Then what can be the matter with your finger? I feel it perfectly. To
be sure it is very thin, and in the sunlight looks just like the thread
of a spider, though there are many of them twisted together to make
it--but for all that I can't think why you shouldn't feel it as well as
I do."
Curdie was too polite to say he did not believe there was any thread
there at all. What he did say was--
"Well, I can make nothing of it."
"I can though, and you must be glad of that, for it will do for both of
us."
"We're not out yet," said Curdie.
"We soon shall be," returned Irene confidently.
And now the thread went downward, and led Irene's hand to a hole in the
floor of the cavern, whence came a sound of running water which they had
been hearing for some time.
"It goes into the ground now, Curdie," she said, stopping.
He had been listening to another sound, which his practised ear had
caught long ago, and which also had been growing louder. It was the
noise the goblin miners made at their work, and they seemed to be at no
great distance now. Irene heard it the moment she stopped.
"What is that noise?" she asked. "Do you know, Curdie?"
"Yes. It is the goblins digging and burrowing," he answered.
"And don't you know for what purpose they do it?"
"No; I haven't the least idea. Would you like to see them?" he asked,
wishing to have another try after their secret.
"If my thread took me there, I shouldn't much mind; but I don't want to
see them, and I can't leave my thread. It leads me down into the hole,
and we had better go at once."
"Very well. Shall I go in first?" said Curdie.
"No; better not. You can't feel the thread," she answered, stepping down
through a narrow break in the floor of the cavern. "Oh!" she cried, "I
am in the water. It is running strong--but it is not deep, and there is
just room to walk. Make haste, Curdie."
He tried, but the hole was too small for him to get in.
"Go on a little bit," he said, shouldering his pickaxe.
In a few moments he had cleared a large opening and followed her. They
went on, down and down with the running water, Curdie getting more and
more afraid it was leading them to some terrible gulf in the heart of
the mountain. In one or two places he had to break away the rock to make
room before even Irene could get through--at least without hurting
herself. But at length they spied a glimmer of light, and in a minute
more, they were almost blinded by the full sunlight into which they
emerged. It was some little time before the princess could see well
enough to discover that they stood in her own garden, close by the seat
on which she and her king-papa had sat that afternoon. They had come out
by the channel of the little stream. She danced and clapped her hands
with delight.
"Now, Curdie!" she cried, "won't you believe what I told you about my
grandmother and her thread?"
For she had felt all the time that Curdie was not believing what she had
told him.
"There!--don't you see it shining on before us?" she added.
"I don't see anything," persisted Curdie.
"Then you must believe without seeing," said the princess; "for you
can't deny it has brought me out of the mountain."
"I can't deny we _are_ out of the mountain, and I should be very
ungrateful indeed to deny that _you_ had brought _me_ out of it."
"I couldn't have done it but for the thread," persisted Irene.
"That's the part I don't understand."
"Well, come along, and Lootie will get you something to eat. I am sure
you must want it very much."
"Indeed I do. But my father and mother will be so anxious about me, I
must make haste--first up the mountain to tell my mother, and then down
into the mine again to acquaint my father."
"Very well, Curdie; but you can't get out without coming this way, and I
will take you through the house, for that is nearest."
They met no one by the way, for indeed, as before, the people were here
and there and everywhere searching for the princess. When they got in,
Irene found that the thread, as she had half expected, went up the old
staircase, and a new thought struck her. She turned to Curdie and
said--
"My grandmother wants me. Do come up with me, and see her. Then you will
know that I have been telling you the truth. Do come--to please me,
Curdie. I can't bear you should think I say what is not true."
"I never doubted you believed what you said," returned Curdie. "I only
thought you had some fancy in your head that was not correct."
"But do come, dear Curdie."
The little miner could not withstand this appeal, and though he felt shy
in what seemed to him such a huge grand house, he yielded, and followed
her up the stair.