My climbing brought down such a quantity of soot as almost smothered and choked me, and I found the flue so narrow a little way up, as to forbid all hope of escape in that direction to a man of my width and stature. So I restored the fire to the hearth, and began my second enterprise. I heaped turves and sticks against the door of the corridor on the side on which it was hinged, and set fire to the pile. The flames soon licked the door, but they did no more than blacken it, for it was hard and solid, and moreover, as I have said, protected by bands of iron. It was like to be a slower business than I had expected, and time being precious, I cast about for means to hasten the process. There was a small poker on the hearth in my dungeon, which I made red-hot, and tried to bore holes with it in the upper part of the door, but the poker was thin, and the door was stout and thick. The bar, which dragged at my ankle, would have been more serviceable, but I could not manage to break any of the links which held it to the shackle. In the intervals of reheating my little poker, I chopped at the door with the hatchet, and when my hands grew very sore, varied my employment by hurling the ball against the place where I had chopped and bored. How long I spent over the work I cannot reckon, but I had used more than half of my stock of fuel when the fire really took hold. When I saw the door begin to burn I turned away, lest in my impatience I should be tempted to meddle, and so hinder the business. I forced myself to eat a few mouthfuls of food and to drink a little wine before I returned. What was my joy to see that the lower hinge-iron had slightly parted from the woodwork! I threw myself against the door with all my strength. It yielded a little, and, at the fourth or fifth rush, it gave completely, and I had cleared the first barrier.