hobbit

valley; and they were piled in heaps till Dale was dark and hideous with their corpses.
The Wargs were scattered and Thorin drove right against the bodyguards of Bolg. But
he could not pierce their ranks.
Already behind him among the goblin dead lay many men and many dwarves, and many
a fair elf that should have lived yet long ages merrily in the wood. And as the valley
widened his onset grew ever slower. His numbers were too few.
His flanks were unguarded. Soon the attackers were attacked, and they were forced into
a great ring, facing every way, hemmed all about with goblins and wolves returning to
the assault. The bodyguard of Bolg came howling against them, and drove in upon their
ranks like waves upon cliffs of sand. Their friends could not help them, for the assault
from the Mountain was renewed with redoubled force, and upon either side men and
elves were being slowly beaten down.
On all this Bilbo looked with misery. He had taken his stand on Ravenhill among the
Elves-partly because there was more chance of escape from that point, and partly (with
the more Tookish part of his mind) because if he was going to be in a last desperate
stand, he preferred on the whole to defend the Elvenking. Gandalf, too, I may say, was
there, sitting on the ground as if in deep thought, preparing, I suppose, some last blast of
magic before the end.
That did not seem far off. "It will not be long now," thought Bilbo, "before the goblins win
the Gate, and we are all slaughtered or driven down and captured. Really it is enough to
make one weep, after all one has gone through. I would rather old Smaug had been left
with all the wretched treasure, than that these vile creatures should get it, and poor old
Bombur, and Balin and Fili and Kili and all the rest come to a bad end; and Bard too, and
the Lake-men and the merry elves. Misery me! I have heard songs of many battles, and I
have always understood that defeat may be glorious. It seems very uncomfortable, not
to say distressing. I wish I was well out of it."
The clouds were torn by the wind, and a red sunset slashed the West.
Seeing the sudden gleam in the gloom Bilbo looked round. He gave a great cry: he had
seen a sight that made his heart leap, dark shapes small yet majestic against the distant
glow.
"The Eagles! The Eagles!" he shouted. "The Eagles are coming!"
Bilbo's eyes were seldom wrong. The eagles were coming down the wind, line after line,
in such a host as must have gathered from all the eyries of the North.
"The Eagles! the Eagles!" Bilbo cried, dancing and waving his arms. If the elves could
not see him they could hear him. Soon they too took up the cry, and it echoed across the
valley. Many wondering eyes looked up, though as yet nothing could be seen except
from the southern shoulders of the Mountain.
"The Eagles!" cried Bilbo once more, but at that moment a stone hurtling from above
smote heavily on his helm, and he fell with a crash and knew no more.
Chapter 18
The Return Journey
When Bilbo came to himself, he was literally by himself. He was lying on the flat stones
of Ravenhill, and no one was near. A cloudless day, but cold, was broad above him. He
was shaking, and as chilled as stone, but his head burned with fire.
"Now I wonder what has happened?" he said to himself. "At any rate I am not yet one of
the fallen heroes; but I suppose there is still time enough for that!"
He sat up painfully. Looking into the valley he could see no living goblins. After a while
as his head cleared a little, he thought he could see elves moving in the rocks below. He
rubbed his eyes. Surely there was a camp still in the plain some distance off; and there