Gents Mag 1899 part 2 p.547
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Gentleman's Magazine 1899 part 2 p.547
Sometimes the fall is followed by unconsciousness, and this means death. One of the world's most plaintive scenes is that of a flock being guided home without human aid. The dogs halt at the head of the intake waiting for the gate to be opened, the sheep in dumb terror huddle towards the bars. Backward and forward the faithful collies wander, with an eye towards the mist-enveloped higher ground, expectant of their master's return. When this state of affairs is noticed from the farmhouses, a search-party is instantly organised, and news of the mishap spreads like lightnining far down the dale. In half an hour a dozen resolute men and a score of dogs are ready to face the white horror of the fells, and all night long, whether a screeching blizzard hold revel or the bright moon shines over quiet banks of snow, the search is carried on. The dogs are most useful now; their sense of smell allows them to mark down any body lying beneath the wreaths, and usually a rescue or recovery of the body is effected ere the party turn towards home and rest. The following record of searches for sheep among the snow-drift gives an idea of the way in which recoveries of the wanderers are sometimes made. "The snow abated before morning, when word came round that about fifty sheep were missing from Crag Forset Farm. Our friends straightway prepared to go and see if their services would be of use, but before the farm in question was reached we saw a party of men and dogs making towards the open fell. By cutting across one or two intakes, knee-deep in snow and slush, we intercepted them before they divided to examine the likeliest hollows and ghylls to right and left. Here and there a wind-swept summit or tall bleak crag loomed above the glittering white, a few dark lines alone showing the deeper ghylls. The wind was 'quiet' or 'lown'd,' as the shepherds call it, or we would have been unable to cope with the drifting snow. ... The men stopped where they said was a buried ghyll, and the dogs began to smell over the frozen crust. In a few minutes one barked, then followed a most exciting burrowing as the whole pack got together. Our party began to dig a few yards away from the place the dogs had located, for the ghyll was deep, and if the sheep were at its bottom a tunnel might have to be made. The powdery drift flew before the quickly-plied spades, and soon the foremost worker was below the level of the snow. As we scarambled down to take a turn with the tools (for the work was most exhausting), we found the heat in the excavation already great. In one corner a frozen mass was presently encountered. This was carefully dug round, and in a few seconds a sheep was liberated. 'No worse; it |
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