They had been in the path only a few minutes when they saw that the rock
was not a single boulder at all, but an arm of the left wall of the
valley, and that they were marching into a deep ravine with no outlet
except the way they came. Both sides were sheer rock, almost
perpendicular, with thick trees at the top; in front of them the ground
rose in a steep hill, bare of woods. As they looked up, they saw that the
top was barricaded by the trunks of trees, and guarded by a strong body of
Hillsmen. As the English hesitated, looking at this, a shower of spears
fell from the wood's edge, aimed by hidden foes. The place was a death
trap.

At this moment, their danger was seen by the officer in command of the
main body, and he signalled to the sergeant to retreat.

By some terrible mischance, the signal was misunderstood. The men took it
for the signal to charge. Without a moment's pause, straight up the slope,
they charged on the run, cheering as they ran.

Some were killed by the spears that were thrown from the cliffs, before
they had gone half way; some were stabbed as they reached the crest, and
hurled backward from the precipice; two or three got to the top, and
fought hand to hand with the Hillsmen. They were outnumbered, seven to
one; but when the last of the English soldiers lay dead, twice their
number of Hillsmen lay dead around them!

When the relief party reached the spot, later in the day, they found the
bodies of their comrades, full of wounds, huddled over and in the
barricade, or crushed on the rocks below. They were mutilated and
battered, and bore every sign of the terrible struggle. _But round both
wrists of every British soldier was bound the red thread!_