Gents Mag 1899 part 2 p.548
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Gentleman's Magazine 1899 part 2 p.548
has only been one night in the snow,' was reported as we settled again to work. No further signs of life being found, a dog was brought down. After careful smelling around in the semi-darkness he selected a particular corner and began whining and scraping a hole. He was instantly hauled away, and digging commenced anew. More sheep are found; then, with a sigh of relief, we climbed out into the open air. How fresh and biting after the smoor of the tunnel! More gullies and hollows were traversed, but the dogs gave no more alarms till we approached a point where a boundary wall dipped out of sight into the snow. After glancing along the surface, the shepherds opened a small trench, and in less than ten minutes had exhumed almost a score of sheep. Seeing neither smear nor wrinkle on the glittering snow-crust, we asked how it was possible to locate the sheep so nearly, and the following explanation was vouchsafed. 'When caught in a snowstorm, a sheep immediately lies down in the shelter of a boulder, wall, or gully, broadside on, so to speak, to the gale. Its breath rises through the porous covering, and being partially condensed on reaching the air, a damp place is made on the surface of the drift. When the animals are barely covered the shepherd looks for this sign, but when they are deep below, the damp points are so minute that they cannot be discovered.' Now let the calendar move to the thirty-ninth day after the events already described. "The scene on the fell is in strong contrast to the huge snow-bed we were last upon. There is a lingering beauty in the glittering levels, an impending horror in the awesome cliffs and the thin straight lines which marked ghylls too deep for the snow to fill. But to-day, after a prolonged thaw (for December), the dead yellow grass appears between long narrowing swathes of grimy snow - the contrasts have toned down considerably, and only on distant mountains is there a wreath of unpolluted white. Yesterday morning we were wandering over the forest with the shepherd and his dogs, when old Sam - a cur of vast intelligence, but with so savage a temper that his fangs have long since been broken to prevent him injuring such sheep as he drives - gave that low whine inseparably associated in our minds with a sheep-rescue. "'Drat it, Sam, what is ther?' cried the shepherd; then, turning to us, 'That's t' third time t' ahld dogs "set" when it's cum be't fell edge.' "We walked to the edge of a rugged crag, below which a few tree-tops stuck through a mass of snow so firmly plastered that only an inappreciable quantity had yet thawed. The dog was now beside |
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