Search for the Secret Door

The Search for the Secret Door marks the climax of the dwarves' long journey to the Lonely Mountain, transforming a desperate, fruitless vigil into a moment of precise, almost magical discovery. After the death of Smaug is confirmed, the episode's significance is recast: the door that was meant for stealthy burglary becomes the gateway to a treasure that now must be defended against armies of Men and Elves. It is the hinge between the quest's approach and its violent, contested aftermath.

Approach to the Mountain and the Desolation

After leaving Lake-town in three large boats laden with rowers, dwarves, and provisions, Thorin and Company rowed up the Long Lake and passed into the Running River, with the Lonely Mountain towering grim before them. At the end of the third day they disembarked on the western bank, where they were joined by horses and ponies sent to meet them. None of the Lake-men would stay with them even for the night so near the shadow of the Mountain, and their escort departed swiftly, leaving the dwarves to spend a cold and lonely night. The next day they set out again, making north-west and drawing ever nearer to a great southern spur of the Mountain. The land grew bleak and barren, with little grass and only broken, blackened stumps to speak of vanished trees; they had come to the Desolation of the Dragon at the waning of the year. They reached the skirts of the Mountain without meeting any danger or sign of the Dragon other than the wilderness he had made. They made their first camp on the western side of the great southern spur, which ended in a height called Ravenhill, but they dared not climb it yet, as it was too exposed.

The Scouting Expedition and the Discovery of the Path

Before searching the western spurs for the hidden door, Thorin sent a scouting expedition to spy out the land to the South where the Front Gate stood. Balin, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo marched under the grey and silent cliffs to the feet of Ravenhill. From the riverbank they could see in the wide valley the grey ruins of ancient houses, towers, and walls—all that was left of Dale. Balin, who had been one of Thorin's companions on the day the Dragon came, looked sad and grim. They did not dare to follow the river much further towards the Gate, but from behind a rock they could see the dark cavernous opening in a great cliff-wall, out of which the waters of the Running River sprang along with steam and dark smoke. Nothing moved in the waste save the vapour and the water and black, ominous crows. Balin shuddered and urged a return, saying the dark birds looked like spies of evil. The hobbit concluded that the dragon was still alive from the smoke, though Balin noted that even if Smaug were away, the halls within would be filled with his foul reek. With gloomy thoughts, followed by croaking crows, they made their weary way back to the camp. Only in June they had been guests in the fair house of Elrond, but now autumn was crawling towards winter, and they were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. None of them had much spirit left—except Bilbo, who would often borrow Thorin's map and gaze at it, pondering over the runes and the message of the moon-letters Elrond had read. It was he who made the dwarves begin the dangerous search on the western slopes for the secret door. They moved their camp to a long valley, narrower than the great dale in the South, walled with lower spurs of the Mountain. Day by day they toiled in parties searching for paths up the mountain-side, but each day they returned without success. At last, unexpectedly, Fili, Kili, and the hobbit went back down the valley and scrambled among the tumbled rocks at its southern corner. About midday, creeping behind a great stone that stood alone like a pillar, Bilbo came on what looked like rough steps going upwards. Following these, they found traces of a narrow track that wandered on to the top of the southern ridge and brought them to a still narrower ledge, which turned north across the face of the Mountain. Looking down, they saw they were at the top of the cliff at the valley's head, gazing down on their own camp below. Silently, clinging to the rocky wall on their right, they went in single file along the ledge, till the wall opened and they turned into a little steep-walled bay, grassy-floored, still and quiet. Its entrance could not be seen from below because of the overhang of the cliff, nor from further off because it was so small that it looked like a dark crack. At its inner end a flat wall rose up, smooth and upright as masons' work, but without a joint or crevice to be seen. No sign was there of post or lintel or threshold, nor any sign of bar or bolt or key-hole; yet they did not doubt that they had found the door at last. They beat on it, thrust and pushed at it, implored it to move, and spoke fragments of broken spells of opening, but nothing stirred. Tired out, they rested on the grass at its feet, and then at evening began their long climb down.

The Camp on the Doorstep and the Waiting

There was excitement in the camp that night. In the morning they prepared to move once more. Only Bofur and Bombur were left behind to guard the ponies and stores. The others went down the valley and up the newly found path, and so to the narrow ledge, carrying no bundles or packs but each taking a good coil of rope wound tight about his waist. Without mishap they reached the little grassy bay, where they made their third camp, hauling up what they needed from below with their ropes. Bombur refused to come up either the rope or the path, claiming he was too fat for such fly-walks. In the meanwhile some explored the ledge beyond the opening and found a path that led higher and higher onto the mountain, but they did not dare venture very far. Out up there a silence reigned, broken by no bird or sound except the wind in the crannies of stone. They spoke low and never called or sang, for danger brooded in every rock. Those busy with the secret of the door had no more success. They tried using picks and tools from Lake-town, but when they struck the stone the handles splintered and jarred their arms cruelly, and the steel heads broke or bent like lead. Mining work was clearly no good against the magic that had shut this door, and they grew terrified of the echoing noise. Bilbo found sitting on the doorstep lonesome and wearisome—they called the little grassy space between the wall and the opening the "doorstep" in fun, remembering his words long ago at the Unexpected Party. He would do nothing but sit with his back to the rock-face and stare away west through the opening, over the cliff, over the wide lands to the black wall of Mirkwood, and to the distances beyond, in which he sometimes thought he could catch glimpses of the Misty Mountains small and far. A large grey stone lay in the centre of the grass, and he stared moodily at it or watched the great snails that crawled slowly and stickily along the walls. Thorin remarked that the next day would begin the last week of autumn, and Dwalin grumbled that their beards would grow till they hung down the cliff before anything happened, suggesting that the burglar might go through the Front Gate and spy things out. Bilbo heard this and thought miserably that it was always poor him that had to get them out of their difficulties. The next day he sat gloomily in the grassy bay, gazing at the stone or out west through the narrow opening, with a queer feeling that he was waiting for something.

The Opening of the Door

As the sun turned west, Bilbo saw a gleam of yellow upon the far roof of the distant forest, and soon the orange ball of the sun was sinking towards the level of his eyes. He went to the opening and there, pale and faint, was a thin new moon above the rim of Earth. At that very moment he heard a sharp crack behind him. There on the grey stone in the grass was an enormous thrush, nearly coal black, with a pale yellow breast freckled with dark spots. It had caught a snail and was knocking it on the stone. Suddenly Bilbo understood. Forgetting all danger, he stood on the ledge and hailed the dwarves, shouting and waving. Those that were nearest came tumbling over the rocks and along the ledge to him. Quickly Bilbo explained. They all fell silent: the hobbit standing by the grey stone, and the dwarves with wagging beards watching impatiently. The sun sank lower and lower, and their hopes fell. It sank into a belt of reddened cloud and disappeared. The dwarves groaned, but still Bilbo stood almost without moving. The little moon was dipping to the horizon. Evening was coming on. Then suddenly when their hope was lowest, a red ray of the sun escaped like a finger through a rent in the cloud. A gleam of light came straight through the opening into the bay and fell on the smooth rock-face. The old thrush, who had been watching from a high perch with beady eyes and head cocked on one side, gave a sudden trill. There was a loud crack. A flake of rock split from the wall and fell. A hole appeared suddenly about three feet from the ground. Quickly, trembling lest the chance should fade, the dwarves rushed to the rock and pushed—in vain. "The key! The key!" cried Bilbo. "Where is Thorin?" Thorin hurried up. "The key!" shouted Bilbo. "The key that went with the map! Try it now while there is still time!" Then Thorin stepped up and drew the key on its chain from round his neck. He put it to the hole. It fitted and it turned! Snap! The gleam went out, the sun sank, the moon was gone, and evening sprang into the sky. Now they all pushed together, and slowly a part of the rock-wall gave way. Long straight cracks appeared and widened. A door five feet high and three broad was outlined, and slowly without a sound swung inwards. It seemed as if darkness flowed out like a vapour from the hole in the mountain-side, and deep darkness in which nothing could be seen lay before their eyes, a yawning mouth leading in and down.