Bab Bab 8 · The Goblins

; and his

bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

'I saw them,' he went on, 'as I came up; and I'm very glad I did. I

knew they were after somebody, but I couldn't see who it was. They

won't touch you so long as I'm with you.'

'Why, who are you?' asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which

he spoke to them.

'I'm Peter's son.'

'Who's Peter?'

'Peter the miner.'

'I don't know him.'

'I'm his son, though.'

'And why should the goblins mind you, pray?'

'Because I don't mind them. I'm used to them.'

'What difference does that make?'

'If you're not afraid of them, they're afraid of you. I'm not afraid

of them. That's all. But it's all that's wanted--up here, that is.

It's a different thing down there. They won't always mind that song

even, down there. And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him

awfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong

one, they--oh! don't they give it him!'

'What do they do to him?' asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

'Don't go frightening the princess,' said the nurse.

'The princess!' repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap.

'I beg your pardon; but you oughtn't to be out so late. Everybody knows

that's against the law.'

'Yes, indeed it is!' said the nurse, beginning to cry again. 'And I

shall have to suffer for it.'

'What does that matter?' said the boy. 'It must be your fault. It is

the princess who will suffer for it. I hope they didn't hear you call

her the princess. If they did, they're sure to know her again: they're

awfully sharp.'

'Lootie! Lootie!' cried the princess. 'Take me home.'

'Don't go on like that,' said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely.

'How could I help it? I lost my way.'

'You shouldn't have been out so late. You wouldn't have lost your way

if you hadn't been frightened,' said the boy. 'Come along. I'll soon

set you right again. Shall I carry your little Highness?'

'Impertinence!' murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for

she thought if she made him angry he might take his revenge by telling

someone belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to

the king's ears. 'No, thank you,' said Irene. 'I can walk very well,

though I can't run so fast as nursie. If you will give me one hand,

Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.'

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

'Now let's run,' said the nurse.

'No, no!' said the little miner. 'That's the worst thing you can do.

If you hadn't run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you

run now, they will be after you in a moment.'

'I don't want to run,' said Irene.

'You don't think of me,' said the nurse.

'Yes, I do, Lootie. The boy says they won't touch us if we don't run.'

'Yes, but if they know at the house that I've kept you out so late I

shall be turned away, and that would break my heart.'

'Turned away, Lootie! Who would turn you away?'

'Your papa, child.'

'But I'll tell him it was all my fault. And you know it was, Lootie.'

'He won't mind that. I'm sure he won't.'

'Then I'll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take

away my own dear Lootie.'

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more. They went

on, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

'I want to talk to you,' said Irene to the little miner; 'but it's so

awkward! I don't know your name.'

'My name's Curdie, little princess.'

'What a funny name! Curdie! What more?'

'Curdie Peterson. What's your name, please?'

'Irene.'

'What more?'

'I don't know what more. What more is my name, Lootie?'

'Princesses haven't got more than one name. They don't want it.'

'Oh, then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene and no more.'

'No, indeed,' said the nurse indignantly. 'He shall do no such thing.'

'What shall he call me, then, Lootie?'

'Your Royal Highness.'

'My Royal Highness! What's that? No, no, Lootie. I won't be called

names. I don't like them. You told me once yourself it's only rude

children that call names; and I'm sure Curdie wouldn't be rude. Curdie,

my name's Irene.'

'Well, Irene,' said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he

enjoyed teasing her; 'it is very kind of you to let me call you

anything. I like your name very much.'

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was

too frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few yards

before them in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks

so that only one could pass at a time.

'It is very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,'

said Irene.

'I'm not going out of my way yet,' said Curdie. 'It's on the other

side of those rocks the path turns off to my father's.'

'You wouldn't think of leaving us till we're safe home, I'm sure,'

gasped the nurse.

'Of course not,' said Curdie.

'You dear, good, kind Curdie! I'll give you a kiss when we get home,'

said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held. But at that

instant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a

great lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after

another it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but

it was now too dark to tell what they were. The nurse began to tremble

from head to foot. Irene clasped Curdie's hand yet faster, and Curdie

began to sing again:

'One, two--

Hit and hew!

Three, four--

Blast and bore!

Five, six--

There's a fix!

Seven, eight--

Hold it straight!

Nine, ten--

Hit again!

Hurry! scurry!

Bother! smother!

There's a toad

In the road!

Smash it!

Squash it!

Fry it!

Dry it!

You're another!

Up and off!

There's enough!--

Huuuuuh!'

As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion,

and rushed at the thing in the road as if he would trample it under his

feet. It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks

like a huge spider. Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene's hand

again. She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had

passed the rocks. A few yards more and she found herself on a part of

the road she knew, and was able to speak again.

'Do you know, Curdie, I don't quite like your song: it sounds to me

rather rude,' she said.

'Well, perhaps it is,' answered Curdie. 'I never thought of that; it's

a way we have. We do it because they don't like it.'

'Who don't like it?'

'The cobs, as we call them.'

'Don't!' said the nurse.

'Why not?' said Curdie.

'I beg you won't. Please don't.'

'Oh! if you ask me that way, of course, I won't; though I don't a bit

know why. Look! there are the lights of your great house down below.

You'll be at home in five minutes now.'

Nothing more happened. They reached home in safety. Nobody had missed

them, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door

belonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them. The

nurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good night to

Curdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just

throwing her arms round Curdie's neck, when she caught her again and

dragged her away.

'Lootie! Lootie! I promised a kiss,' cried Irene.

'A princess mustn't give kisses. It's not at all proper,' said Lootie.

'But I promised,' said the princess.

'There's no occasion; he's only a miner-boy.'

'He's a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us.

Lootie! Lootie! I promised.'

'Then you shouldn't have promised.'

'Lootie, I promised him a kiss.'

'Your Royal Highness,' said Lootie, suddenly grown very respectful,

'must come in directly.'

'Nurse, a princess must not break her word,' said Irene, drawing

herself up and standing stock-still.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst--to let the

princess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did

not know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would

have counted neither of them the worse. However much he might have

disliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her

break her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the

nurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great

difficulty, for, if she insisted, someone might hear the princess cry

and run to see, and then all would come out. But here Curdie came

again to the rescue.

'Never mind, Princess Irene,' he said. 'You mustn't kiss me tonight.

But you shan't break your word. I will come another time. You may be

sure I will.'

'Oh, thank you, Curdie!' said the princess, and stopped crying.

'Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,' said Curdie, and turned and

was out of sight in a moment.

'I should like to see him!' muttered the nurse, as she carried the

princess to the nursery.

'You will see him,' said Irene. 'You may be sure Curdie will keep his

word. He's sure to come again.'

'I should like to see him!' repeated the nurse, and said no more. She

did not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying

more plainly what she meant. Glad enough that she had succeeded both

in getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the

miner's boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future. Her

carelessness had already doubled the danger she was in. Formerly the

goblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from

Curdie as well.

Chapter 7. The Mines

Curdie went home whistling. He resolved to say nothing about the

princess for fear of getting the nurse into trouble, for while he

enjoyed teasing her because of her absurdity, he was careful not to do

her any harm. He saw no more of the goblins, and was soon fast asleep

in his bed.

He woke in the middle of the night, and thought he heard curious noises

outside. He sat up and listened; then got up, and, opening the door

very quietly, went out. When he peeped round the corner, he saw, under

his own window, a group of stumpy creatures, whom he at once recognized

by their shape. Hardly, however, had he begun his 'One, two, three!'

when they broke asunder, scurried away, and were out of sight. He

returned laughing, got into bed again, and was fast asleep in a moment.

Reflecting a little over the matter in the morning, he came to the

conclusion that, as nothing of the kind had ever happened before, they

must be annoyed with him for interfering to protect the princess. By

the time he was dressed, however, he was thinking of something quite

different, for he did not value the enmity of the goblins in the least.

As soon as they had had breakfast, he set off with his father for the

mine.

They entered the hill by a natural opening under a huge rock, where a

little stream rushed out. They followed its course for a few yards,

when the passage took a turn, and sloped steeply into the heart of the

hill. With many angles and windings and branchings-off, and sometimes

with steps where it came upon a natural gulf, it led them deep into the

hill before they arrived at the place where they were at present

digging out the precious ore. This was of various kinds, for the

mountain was very rich in the better sorts of metals. With flint and

steel, and tinder-box, they lighted their lamps, then fixed them on

their heads, and were soon hard at work with their pickaxes and shovels

and hammers. Father and son were at work near each other, but not in

the same gang--the passages out of which the ore was dug, they called

gangs--for when the lode, or vein of ore, was small, one miner would

have to dig away alone in a passage no bigger than gave him just room

to work--sometimes in uncomfortable cramped positions. If they stopped

for a moment they could hear everywhere around them, some nearer, some

farther off, the sounds of their companions burrowing away in all

directions in the inside of the great mountain--some boring holes in

the rock in order to blow it up with gunpowder, others shovelling the

broken ore into baskets to be carried to the mouth of the mine, others

hitting away with their pickaxes. Sometimes, if the miner was in a very

lonely part, he would hear only a tap-tapping, no louder than that of a

woodpecker, for the sound would come from a great distance off through

the solid mountain rock.

The work was hard at best, for it is very warm underground; but it was

not particularly unpleasant, and some of the miners, when they wanted

to earn a little more money for a particular purpose, would stop behind

the rest and work all night. But you could not tell night from day

down there, except from feeling tired and sleepy; for no light of the

sun ever came into those gloomy regions. Some who had thus remained

behind during the night, although certain there were none of their

companions at work, would declare the next morning that they heard,

every time they halted for a moment to take breath, a tap-tapping all

about them, as if the mountain were then more full of miners than ever

it was during the day; and some in consequence would never stay

overnight, for all knew those were the sounds of the goblins. They

worked only at night, for the miners' night was the goblins' day.

Indeed, the greater number of the miners were afraid of the goblins;

for there were strange stories well known amongst them of the treatment

some had received whom the goblins had surprised at their work during

the night. The more courageous of them, however, amongst them Peter

Peterson and Curdie, who in this took after his father, had stayed in

the mine all night again and again, and although they had several times

encountered a few stray goblins, had never yet failed in driving them

away. As I have indicated already, the chief defence against them was

verse, for they hated verse of every kind, and some kinds they could

not endure at all. I suspect they could not make any themselves, and

that was why they disliked it so much. At all events, those who were

most afraid of them were those who could neither make verses themselves

nor remember the verses that other people made for them; while those

who were never afraid were those who could make verses for themselves;

for although there were certain old rhymes which were very effectual,

yet it was well known that a new rhyme, if of the right sort, was even

more distasteful to them, and therefore more effectual in putting them

to flight.

Perhaps my readers may be wondering what the goblins could be about,

working all night long, seeing they never carried up the ore and sold

it; but when I have informed them concerning what Curdie learned the

very next night, they will be able to understand.

For Curdie had determined, if his father would permit him, to remain

there alone this night--and that for two reasons: first, he wanted to

get extra wages that he might buy a very warm red petticoat for his

mother, who had begun to complain of the cold of the mountain air

sooner than usual this autumn; and second, he had just a faint hope of

finding out what the goblins were about under his window the night

before.

When he told his father, he made no objection, for he had great

confidence in his boy's courage and resources.

'I'm sorry I can't stay with you,' said Peter; 'but I want to go and

pay the parson a visit this evening, and besides I've had a bit of a

headache all day.'

'I'm sorry for that, father,' said Curdie.

'Oh, it's not much. You'll be sure to take care of yourself, won't

you?'

'Yes, father; I will. I'll keep a sharp look-out, I promise you.'

Curdie was the only one who remained in the mine. About six o'clock

the rest went away, everyone bidding him good night, and telling him to

take care of himself; for he was a great favourite with them all.

'Don't forget your rhymes,' said one.

'No, no,' answered Curdie.

'It's no matter if he does,' said another, 'for he'll only have to make

a new one.'

'Yes: but he mightn't be able to make it fast enough,' said another;

'and while it was cooking in his head, they might take a mean advantage

and set upon him.'

'I'll do my best,' said Curdie. 'I'm not afraid.'

'We all know that,' they returned, and left him.

Chapter 8. The Goblins

For some time Curdie worked away briskly, throwing all the ore he had

disengaged on one side behind him, to be ready for carrying out in the

morning. He heard a good deal of goblin-tapping, but it all sounded

far away in the hill, and he paid it little heed. Towards midnight he

began to feel rather hungry; so he dropped his pickaxe, got out a lump

of bread which in the morning he had laid in a damp hole in the rock,

sat down on a heap of ore, and ate his supper. Then he leaned back for

five minutes' rest before beginning his work again, and laid his head

against the rock. He had not kept the position for one minute before

he heard something which made him sharpen his ears. It sounded like a

voice inside the rock. After a while he heard it again. It was a

goblin voice--there could be no doubt about that--and this time he

could make out the words.

'Hadn't we better be moving?' it said.

A rougher and deeper voice replied:

'There's no hurry. That wretched little mole won't be through tonight,

if he work ever so hard. He's not by any means at the thinnest place.'

'But you still think the lode does come through into our house?' said

the first voice.

'Yes, but a good bit farther on than he has got to yet. If he had

struck a stroke more to the side just here,' said the goblin, tapping

the very stone, as it seemed to Curdie, against which his head lay, 'he

would have been through; but he's a couple of yards past it now, and if

he follow the lode it will be a week before it leads him in. You see

it back there--a long way. Still, perhaps, in case of accident it

would be as well to be getting out of this. Helfer, you'll take the

great chest. That's your business, you know.'

'Yes, dad,' said a third voice. 'But you must help me to get it on my

back. It's awfully heavy, you know.'

'Well, it isn't just a bag of smoke, I admit. But you're as strong as

a mountain, Helfer.'

'You say so, dad. I think myself I'm all right. But I could carry ten

times as much if it wasn't for my feet.'

'That is your weak point, I confess, my boy.'

'Ain't it yours too, father?'

'Well, to be honest, it's a goblin weakness. Why they come so soft, I

declare I haven't an idea.'

'Specially when your head's so hard, you know, father.'

'Yes my boy. The goblin's glory is his head. To think how the fellows

up above there have to put on helmets and things when they go fighting!

Ha! ha!'

'But why don't we wear shoes like them, father? I should like

it--especially when I've got a chest like that on my head.'

'Well, you see, it's not the fashion. The king never wears shoes.'

'The queen does.'

'Yes; but that's for distinction. The first queen, you see--I mean the

king's first wife--wore shoes, of course, because she came from

upstairs; and so, when she died, the next queen would not be inferior

to her as she called it, and would wear shoes too. It was all pride.

She is the hardest in forbidding them to the rest of the women.'

'I'm sure I wouldn't wear them--no, not for--that I wouldn't!' said the

first voice, which was evidently that of the mother of the family. 'I

can't think why either of them should.'

'Didn't I tell you the first was from upstairs?' said the other. 'That

was the only silly thing I ever knew His Majesty guilty of. Why should

he marry an outlandish woman like that-one of our natural enemies too?'

'I suppose he fell in love with her.'

'Pooh! pooh! He's just as happy now with one of his own people.'

'Did she die very soon? They didn't tease her to death, did they?'

'Oh, dear, no! The king worshipped her very footmarks.'

'What made her die, then? Didn't the air agree with her?'

'She died when the young prince was born.'

'How silly of her! We never do that. It must have been because she

wore shoes.'

'I don't know that.'

'Why do they wear shoes up there?'

'Ah, now that's a sensible question, and I will answer it. But in

order to do so, I must first tell you a secret. I once saw the queen's

feet.'

'Without her shoes?'

'Yes--without her shoes.'

'No! Did you? How was it?'

'Never you mind how it was. She didn't know I saw them. And what do

you think!--they had toes!'

'Toes! What's that?'

'You may well ask! I should never have known if I had not seen the

queen's feet. Just imagine! the ends of her feet were split up into

five or six thin pieces!'

'Oh, horrid! How could the king have fallen in love with her?'

'You forget that she wore shoes. That is just why she wore them. That

is why all the men, and women too, upstairs wear shoes. They can't

bear the sight of their own feet without them.'

'Ah! now I understand. If ever you wish for shoes again, Helfer, I'll

hit your feet--I will.'

'No, no, mother; pray don't.'

'Then don't you.'

'But with such a big box on my head--'

A horrid scream followed, which Curdie interpreted as in reply to a

blow from his mother upon the feet of her eldest goblin.

'Well, I never knew so much before!' remarked a fourth voice.

'Your knowledge is not universal quite yet,' said the father. 'You

were only fifty last month. Mind you see to the bed and bedding. As

soon as we've finished our supper, we'll be up and going. Ha! ha! ha!'

'What are you laughing at, husband?'

'I'm laughing to think what a mess the miners will find themselves

in--somewhere before this day ten years.'

'Why, what do you mean?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'Oh, yes, you do mean something. You always do mean something.'

'It's more than you do, then, wife.' 'That may be; but it's not more

than I find out, you know.'

'Ha! ha! You're a sharp one. What a mother you've got, Helfer!'

'Yes, father.'

'Well, I suppose I must tell you. They're all at the palace consulting

about it tonight; and as soon as we've got away from this thin place

I'm going there to hear what night they fix upon. I should like to see

that young ruffian there on the other side, struggling in the agonies

of--'

He dropped his voice so low that Curdie could hear only a growl. The

growl went on in the low bass for a good while, as inarticulate as if

the goblin's tongue had been a sausage; and it was not until his wife

spoke again that it rose to its former pitch.

'But what shall we do when you are at the palace?' she asked.

'I will see you safe in the new house I've been digging for you for the

last two months. Podge, you mind the table and chairs. I commit them

to your care. The table has seven legs--each chair three. I shall

require them all at your hands.'

After this arose a confused conversation about the various household

goods and their transport; and Curdie heard nothing more that was of

any importance.

He now knew at least one of the reasons for the constant sound of the

goblin hammers and pickaxes at night. They were making new houses for

themselves, to which they might retreat when the miners should threaten

to break into their dwellings. But he had learned two things of far

greater importance. The first was, that some grievous calamity was

preparing, and almost ready to fall upon the heads of the miners; the

second was--the one weak point of a goblin's body; he had not known

that their feet were so tender as he had now reason to suspect. He had

heard it said that they had no toes: he had never had opportunity of

inspecting them closely enough, in the dusk in which they always

appeared, to satisfy himself whether it was a correct report. Indeed,

he had not been able even to satisfy himself as to whether they had no

fingers, although that also was commonly said to be the fact. One of

the miners, indeed, who had had more schooling than the rest, was wont

to argue that such must have been the primordial condition of humanity,

and that education and handicraft had developed both toes and

fingers--with which proposition Curdie had once heard his father

sarcastically agree, alleging in support of it the probability that

babies' gloves were a traditional remnant of the old state of things;

while the stockings of all ages, no regard being paid in them to the

toes, pointed in the same direction. But what was of importance was

the fact concerning the softness of the goblin feet, which he foresaw

might be useful to all miners. What he had to do in the meantime,

however, was to discover, if possible, the special evil design the

goblins had now in their heads.

Although he knew all the gangs and all the natural galleries with which

they communicated in the mined part of the mountain, he had not the

least idea where the palace of the king of the gnomes was; otherwise he

would have set out at once on the enterprise of discovering what the

said design was. He judged, and rightly, that it must lie in a farther

part of the mountain, between which and the mine there was as yet no

communication. There must be one nearly completed, however; for it

could be but a thin partition which now separated them. If only he

could get through in time to follow the goblins as they retreated! A

few blows would doubtless be sufficient--just where his ear now lay;

but if he attempted to strike there with his pickaxe, he would only

hasten the departure of the family, put them on their guard, and

perhaps lose their involuntary guidance. He therefore began to feel

the wall with his hands, and soon found that some of the stones were

loose enough to be drawn out with little noise.

Laying hold of a large one with both his hands, he drew it gently out,

and let it down softly.

'What was that noise?' said the goblin father.

Curdie blew out his light, lest it should shine through.

'It must be that one miner that stayed behind the rest,' said the

mother.

'No; he's been gone a good while. I haven't heard a blow for an hour.

Besides, it wasn't like that.'

'Then I suppose it must have been a stone carried down the brook

inside.'

'Perhaps. It will have more room by and by.'

Curdie kept quite still. After a little while, hearing nothing but the

sounds of their preparations for departure, mingled with an occasional

word of direction, and anxious to know whether the removal of the stone

had made an opening into the goblins' house, he put in his hand to

feel. It went in a good way, and then came in contact with something

soft. He had but a moment to feel it over, it was so quickly

withdrawn: it was one of the toeless goblin feet. The owner of it gave

a cry of fright.

'What's the matter, Helfer?' asked his mother.

'A beast came out of the wall and licked my foot.'

'Nonsense! There are no wild beasts in our country,' said his father.

'But it was, father. I felt it.'

'Nonsense, I say. Will you malign your native realms and reduce them

to a level with the country upstairs? That is swarming with wild

beasts of every description.'

'But I did feel it, father.'

'I tell you to hold your tongue. You are no patriot.'

Curdie suppressed his laughter, and lay still as a mouse--but no

stiller, for every moment he kept nibbling away with his fingers at the

edges of the hole. He was slowly making it bigger, for here the rock

had been very much shattered with the blasting.

There seemed to be a good many in the family, to judge from the mass of

confused talk which now and then came through the hole; but when all

were speaking together, and just as if they had bottle-brushes--each at

least one--in their throats, it was not easy to make out much that was

said. At length he heard once more what the father goblin was saying.

'Now, then,' he said, 'get your bundles on your backs. Here, Helfer,

I'll help you up with your chest.'

'I wish it was my chest, father.'

'Your turn will come in good time enough! Make haste. I must go to

the meeting at the palace tonight. When that's over, we can come back

and clear out the last of the things before our enemies return in the

morning. Now light your torches, and come along. What a distinction it

is, to provide our own light, instead of being dependent on a thing

hung up in the air--a most disagreeable contrivance--intended no doubt

to blind us when we venture out under its baleful influence! Quite

glaring and vulgar, I call it, though no doubt useful to poor creatures

who haven't the wit to make light for themselves.'

Curdie could hardly keep himself from calling through to know whether

they made the fire to light their torches by. But a moment's

reflection showed him that they would have said they did, inasmuch as

they struck two stones together, and the fire came.