A NIGHT IN THE SNOW;OR, A Struggle for Life. 

BY THEREV. E. DONALD CARR. 

_EIGHTH EDITION_. 

LONDON:JAMES NISBET & CO. , LIMITED, 21 BERNERS STREET, W. 

EDINBURGH:PRINTED BY LORIMER AND CHALMERS, 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE. 

INTRODUCTION. 

In publishing the following account of "A Night in the Snow, " which hasalready been given as a Lecture before the Society for the Promotion ofReligious and Useful Knowledge at Bridgnorth, I feel that some apology isdue. 

My preservation through the night of the 29th of January last wasdoubtless most wonderful, and my experience perhaps almost withoutprecedent, in this country at least; for, though many people have atdifferent times been lost in the snow, scarcely any one has passedthrough the ordeal of such a day and night as that undergone by myself, and lived to tell the tale. Still I should never have thought that thematter was of sufficient importance to justify me in printing an accountof it, had I not discovered that my adventure has created a publicinterest, for which I was totally unprepared. I have been so repeatedlyasked to write a detailed account of all the circumstances connected withmy wanderings on the Long Mynd in the snow during that night and thefollowing day, and to have it published, that I have at last (though, Imust confess, somewhat reluctantly) consented to do so, and with thatview have drawn up the following account. 

In writing my story, I have been obliged to go into many very smallmatters of detail, which may perhaps appear trivial; but it seemed to methat the interest of a story of this kind, if there be any interestattached to it, generally turns upon minor circumstances. I have alsobeen obliged to speak of myself in a very personal manner, but I did notsee how I could put the reader in possession of the geographical pointsof the case, without describing the duties I had to perform, and thecountry I had to traverse. 

E. DONALD CARR. 

WOLSTASTON RECTORY, _April_ 17, 1865. 

A NIGHT IN THE SNOW. 

The mountains of South-West Shropshire are less known to the lovers offine scenery than their great beauty deserves, though they are familiarto most geologists as the typical region of the lowest fossil-bearingdeposits. Of this group of hills the highest is the Long Mynd, amountain district of very remarkable character, and many miles in extent. It is about ten miles long, and from three to four miles in breadth. Itssummit is a wide expanse of table land, the highest part of which isnearly seventeen hundred feet above the level of the sea. The whole ofthis unenclosed moorland is covered with gorse and heather, making itextremely gay in the summer time; it is also tolerably abundant in grouseand black game, and so fruitful in bilberries, that from 400 to 500pounds worth are said to have been gathered on it in the course of asingle season. On first hearing it, this sounds an improbable statement;but any one who has been upon the mountain in a good "whinberry season"as it is called, will readily understand that this is no exaggeration. Tothe poor people for miles around, the "whinberry picking" is the greatevent of the year. The whole family betake themselves to the hill withthe early morning, carrying with them their provisions for the day; andnot unfrequently a kettle to prepare tea forms part of their load. Iknow no more picturesque sight than that presented by the summit of theLong Mynd towards four o'clock on an August afternoon, when numerousfires are lit among the heather, and as many kettles steaming away on thetop of them, while noisy, chattering groups of women and children areclustered round, glad to rest after a hard day's work. A family willpick many quarts of bilberries in the day, and as these are sold atprices varying from 3d. To 5d. A quart, it will be readily understoodthat it is by no means impossible that the large sum of 400 or 500 poundsshould thus be realised in a single season. 

The appearance of this Long Mynd mountain on the northern side, lookingtowards Shrewsbury, presents no feature of striking interest, and theascent is a gradual one, leading chiefly through cultivated ground; butthe aspect of the south-eastern or Stretton side is wild in the extreme, the whole face of the mountain being broken up into deep ravines, withprecipitous sides, where purple rocks project boldly through the turf, and in many places even the active sheep and mountain ponies can scarcelyfind a footing. Down each of these ravines runs a small stream ofexquisitely pure water, one of which, near the entrance of the valley, becomes considerable enough to turn a mill for carding wool. This streamfalls over rocks at the head of the ravine, in a small cascade of aconsiderable height called the Light Spout. 

Many people have lost their lives among these hills at different times, and places here and there bear such suggestive names, as "Dead Man'sBeach, " "Dead Man's Hollow, " &c. The last fair, too, which is held atChurch Stretton before Christmas is locally known as "Dead Man's Fair, "several men have perished whilst attempting to return home after itacross the hill in the dark November night. No one, however, till thiswinter has been lost for many years. Two drovers were the last personswho perished here, and they lost their lives near a place called "TheThresholds, " in a deep snow which fell in April thirty-seven years ago. 

The western slope of the Long Mynd is less strikingly picturesque andmore desolate, but the view from the top in this direction is the finestof any. Almost unseen in a narrow valley at the foot of the mountain, stand the village and church of Ratlinghope, the centre of a parishnumbering about three hundred souls only, but which stretches over milesof mountain country, embracing a portion of the wild mining district ofthe Stiper Stones. Beyond these hills the eye passes to the Welshmountains, and rests at last on the grand peaks of Cader Idris in onedirection, and Snowdon in the other, which may be seen in clear weathersharply defined against a sunset sky. 

Poor Ratlinghope was in sore need of some one to look after it when theliving was offered to me in September 1856. It had at that time beenleft for many Sundays together without a service, the late incumbentresiding in Shrewsbury, twelve miles distant, and being frequentlyprevented by ill health from coming over. There is no house in theparish where a clergyman could live, or even procure tolerable lodgings;and if there were, there is next to nothing, as one of the parishionerssaid to me the other day, "to find coals to warm it with. " It isscarcely to be wondered at that under these circumstances, when theliving became vacant in the summer of 1856, there was no suitable personto be found who was willing to accept so desirable a piece of preferment. The parish of Wolstaston, of which I have the charge, and in which Ireside, is situated on high ground on the eastern slope of the Long Mynd, _i. E. _ exactly on the opposite side of the mountain to Ratlinghope. AboveWolstaston the ground rises steadily for about a mile and a half till youcome to the unenclosed moorland, which stretches away for many miles ofopen country, covered with heather and gorse. It was under thecircumstances that I have already mentioned that the living ofRatlinghope was offered to me. I was aware that it would be impossibleto attend to the parish as one would wish to do, with four miles of thiswild hill country to cross between the two villages. Still, as no oneelse could be found to take it, and I thought that the Ratlinghope peoplemight think that "half-a-loaf was better than no bread, " I consented toaccept the living, and do the best I could for it; so I altered my secondservice at Wolstaston from three o'clock in the afternoon to six, whichenabled me to give an afternoon service at Ratlinghope every Sunday. 

I soon found, however, that the task I had undertaken was no very lightone, as the only access from Wolstaston to Ratlinghope was by mountaintracks, over the highest part of the Long Mynd, unless indeed one droveround the base of the hill, a distance of at least twelve miles. Theride was pleasant enough in fine weather, but less enjoyable when fogshung heavy over the hill, when the tracks were slippery with ice, or whenfalling snow concealed every landmark. It not unfrequently happened inwinter, when the snow was very deep, or much drifted, that it wasimpossible to ride across the hill, and the expedition then had to beperformed on foot; still I always managed to cross somehow, in spite ofwind or weather, so that during the last eight years and a half thelittle mountain church has never been without one Sunday service. I findthat during that time I have crossed the Long Mynd (in round numbers)nearly two thousand five hundred times; consequently my knowledge of thecountry became so intimate, that I felt equally at home upon the hill inall weathers, and at all hours of the day and night. On one occasion, Ihad to cross it late on a November night and in a dense fog, whenreturning home from Ratlinghope, and met with no accident; and I thinkthat this and similar experiences made me somewhat over confident. Imention this to show how little the most perfect acquaintance withcountry will avail any one when overtaken by such a blinding snow stormas that of the 29th of January last. 

During the preceding week the snow fell heavily, and accumulated on thehills to a greater depth than had been known for fifty-one years. Publicopinion was unanimous that there had been nothing like it since 1814. Astrong wind, moreover, had so drifted it that the roads were impassable, and the communication between neighbouring villages, and even betweenhouses in the same village, almost ceased. Letters wont to be receivedin the morning arrived late in the day, or not at all; and unhappy folkwho were unprovided with a good store of food and coals had either toborrow of their neighbours or starve. The morning service at Wolstastonon Sunday the 29th was of necessity but thinly attended, and it seemedprobable that I should not even be expected at Ratlinghope. As, however, the service there had never been omitted owing to bad weather, I wasanxious to get to my little church if possible; in fact, I considered itmy duty to make the attempt, though I felt very doubtful whether I shouldsucceed. 

Accordingly, very soon after morning service at Wolstaston was over, Istarted on the expedition. I was in such a hurry to be off that I couldnot stay to take my usual luncheon, but swallowed a few mouthfuls ofsoup, and put a small flask containing about three ounces of brandy in mypocket. My taking anything of the kind with me was a most unprecedentedcircumstance. I only remember one other occasion in which I did so, andthat was also in a very deep snow; but now foreseeing a walk of no commondifficulty, I thought the precaution a wise one, and saw reasonafterwards to be thankful that I had adopted it. 

I started on horseback, though I knew that I could only ride a shortdistance, but thought it advisable to save myself all unnecessaryfatigue. I was of course accompanied by a servant to bring back thehorses when they were of no further use. By leaving the lane and makingour way across the fields over hedge and ditch, we contrived to rideabout half a mile. The horses then became useless, as the drifts were sodeep against the hedges and gates, that the poor animals became imbeddedin them, and were unable to find any firm footing to leap from. Theservant therefore had to return with them long before I reached theunenclosed mountain land, and I proceeded on my way alone. 

The journey proved more difficult even than I had expected. The snow wasfor the most part up to the knees and very soft, and the drifts were sodeep that they could only be crossed by crawling on hands and knees, asany one will readily understand who has attempted to cross deep snow whenin a soft state. When I reached the open moorland the day was bright andfine, and the snow stretched around me for miles in a dazzling expansevery painful to the eyes, and unbroken by track, landmark, or footprintof any living creature. The form of the country, however, was asufficient guide to my destination, and after a severe struggle over andthrough the drifts, I reached my little church at a quarter-past threeo'clock, just two hours and a quarter from the time I had leftWolstaston. A few people were assembled together, though no one hadreally expected me, and after a short service I started on my homewardjourney, having refused the invitations of my kind people to stay thenight amongst them, as I was anxious to get back to Wolstaston in timefor my six o'clock evening service, and I did not anticipate that Ishould encounter any greater difficulties in my return home than I haddone in coming to Ratlinghope. 

During the three quarters of an hour, however, that we had been inchurch, the aspect of the weather had completely changed. A furious galehad come on from E. S. E. , which, as soon as I got on the open moorland, Ifound was driving clouds of snow and icy sleet before it. It was withconsiderable difficulty that I made my way up the western ascent of thehill, as I had to walk in the teeth of this gale. The force of the windwas most extraordinary. I have been in many furious gales, but never inanything to compare with that, as it took me off my legs, and blew meflat down upon the ground over and over again. The sleet too was mostpainful, stinging one's face, and causing such injury to the eyes, thatit was impossible to lift up one's head. I contrived, however, to fightmy way through it, and at length reached the crest of the hill. Though Icould not see many yards in any direction, I knew at this time exactlywhere I was, as I passed the carcase of a mountain pony which I hadpreviously noticed. The poor thing had no doubt been famished to death, and was fast wasting to a skeleton. Numbers of these hardy littleanimals have perished during the severe weather from hunger, having beenpreviously reduced to the lowest condition through lack of pasturageduring the dry season of 1864. One man, who owned fourteen of them, haslost every one. 

Leaving this solitary waymark, the half buried skeleton, by which I hadrested for a few minutes and taken a little of my brandy, I startedagain, having first made a careful observation of the direction in whichI should go. After a further struggle across the level summit of thehill, I reached my second landmark, a pool in a little hollow between thehills, which is well known to the inhabitants of the district, andinteresting to naturalists, as the resort of curlews and other rarebirds; here again I took a short rest, and then started upon what Ifondly dreamed would be the last difficult stage of my journey. 

My way from the pool lay first up a steep ascent for rather less thanhalf a mile to the top of the hill, and then across a level flat for somethree or four hundred yards, when a fir plantation would be reached atthe edge of the enclosed ground. Once within the friendly shelter ofthose firs, I knew that the remainder of my walk, though still tediousand fatiguing, would be comparatively easy. It pleased God, however, that I should never reach them that night. Doubtless I had been tooconfident in my own powers, and at the very time when I thought thedifficulties and dangers of my task were well nigh accomplished, I wastaught a lesson which I shall remember to the latest hour of my life. Iascended the hill to the flat already spoken of, though it was a veryslow process, for owing to the depth of the drifts, which were nowincreasing rapidly, and the force of the wind, I was compelled to crawl agreat part of the way. The storm now came on, if possible, withincreased fury. It was quite impossible to look up or see for a yardaround, and the snow came down so thick and fast that my servant, who hadcome some distance up the lane from Wolstaston in hopes of seeingsomething of me, describing it to me afterwards, said, "Sir, it was justas if they were throwing it on to us out of buckets. " I fought onthrough it, however, expecting soon to come to the fir wood. On and on Iwent, but not a glimpse of its friendly shelter could I see, the realfact being that I had borne away a great deal too much to the right, almost at right angles to my proper course. Having been blown down overand over again, I had probably, in rising to my feet, altered mydirection unconsciously. The wind too, by which I had been trying tosteer, proved a treacherous compass; for, as I have been told, about thistime it went more round into the south. It was, moreover, becoming verydark. After a while I became aware that the ground under my feet was ofa wrong shape, sloping downwards when it should have been level, and Ithen knew that I had missed my way. This, however, gave me no greatuneasiness, as I imagined that I had only gone a little too much to thesouth of the wood, and that I should soon reach an inhabited district atthe bottom of it, known as Bullock's Moor, from which a somewhatcircuitous route would bring me safely home. Under this impression Iwalked cheerfully on, but only for a few steps further. Suddenly my feetflew from under me, and I found myself shooting at a fearful pace downthe side of one of the steep ravines which I had imagined lay far away tomy right. I thought to check myself by putting my stick behind me, andbearing heavily upon it in the manner usual under such circumstances inAlpine travelling. Before, however, I could do so I came in contact withsomething which jerked it out of my hand and turned me round, so that Icontinued my tremendous glissade head downwards, lying on my back. 

The pace I was going in this headlong descent must have been very great, yet it seemed to me to occupy a marvellous space of time, long enough forthe events of my whole previous life to pass in review before me, as Ihad often before heard that they did in moments of extreme peril. Inever lost my consciousness, but had time to think much of those I shouldleave behind me, expecting every moment as I did to be dashed over therocks at the bottom of the ravine; knew in fact that such must be myfate, unless I could stop myself by some means. Owing to the softness ofthe snow, I contrived to accomplish this by kicking my foot as deep intothe snow as I could, and at the same time bending my knee with a smartmuscular effort, so as to make a hook of my leg; this brought me to astand still, but my position was anything but agreeable even then, hanging head downwards on a very steep part, and never knowing any momentbut what I might start again. With much difficulty, however, I at lengthsucceeded in getting myself the right way up, and then descended withgreat care to the bottom of the ravine, intending if possible to walkalong the course of the stream in its hollow till it should lead me tothe enclosed country. The ravine, however, was so choked up with snow, that to walk along the valley was utterly impossible. The drifts weremany feet over my head, in several places they must have been at leasttwenty feet in depth; and having once got into them, I had the greatestdifficulty, by scratching and struggling, to extricate myself from themagain. It was now dark. I did not know into which of the ravines I hadfallen, for at this part there is a complete network of them intersectingeach other in every direction. The only way by which I had thought toescape was hopelessly blocked up, and I had to face the awful fact that Iwas lost among the hills, should have to spend the night there, and that, humanly speaking, it was almost impossible that I could survive it. 

The instinct of self-preservation, however, is strong, even when afearful death seems close at hand, and there were others for whose sake, even more than my own, I desired that night that my life might be spared, if such were God's will. I knew that, under Providence, all depended onmy own powers of endurance, and that the struggle for life must be a verysevere one. The depth of the snow made walking a very exhausting effort. It was always up to my knees, more often up to my waist; but my onlychance, as I was well aware, was to keep moving; and having extricatedmyself at last from the drifts in the ravine, I began to climb theopposite side of the hill, though I had not the least idea in whichdirection I ought to go. As I made my way upwards, I saw just in frontof me what looked like a small shadow flitting about, for owing to thewhite ground it was never completely dark. I was much surprised at this, especially as when I came close to it, it disappeared into the snow, withthe exception of one round dark spot, which remained motionless. I putmy hand down upon this dark object to ascertain what it could possiblybe, and found that I had got hold of a hare's head! I saw many of theselittle animals in the course of the night. They made holes in the snowfor shelter, and sat in them well protected by their warm coats, happierfar than their human fellow-sufferer, who knew that for him there must beno rest that night if he would see the light of another day. 

Having climbed the hill, I walked along its crest for some distance, tillsuddenly I again lost my footing, and shot down the hill, as far as I canjudge, on the opposite side into another ravine. This was, if possible, a more fearful glissade than my previous one; it was a very precipitousplace, and I was whirled round and round in my descent, sometimes headfirst, sometimes feet first, and again sideways, rolling over and over, till at last, by clutching at the gorse bushes, and digging my feet intothe snow as before, I once more managed to check my wild career, andbring myself to a stand; but I had lost my hat and a pair of warm furgloves, which I had on over a pair of old dogskins. The loss of thesefur gloves proved very serious to me, as my hands soon began to get sonumbed with the cold, that they were comparatively useless. 

At the bottom of the ravine into which I had now fallen, I found myselfagain involved in snow drifts, and had still more difficulty than beforein getting out of them. I had tumbled into a very soft one far over myhead, and had to fight, and scratch, and burrow for a long time before Icould extricate myself, and became more exhausted than at any other timeduring the night. I only ventured to take my brandy very sparingly, wishing to husband it as much as possible, and there was but a very tinydrop left. My hands, as I have said, were so numbed with cold as to benearly useless. I had the greatest difficulty in holding the flask, orin eating snow for refreshment, and could hardly get my hands to my mouthfor the masses of ice which had formed upon my whiskers, and which weregradually developed into a long crystal beard, hanging half way to mywaist. Icicles likewise had formed about my eyes and eyebrows, which Ifrequently had to break off, and my hair had frozen into a solid block ofice. After the loss of my hat, my hair must, I suppose, have becomefilled with snow, while I was overhead in the drifts. Probably this waspartially melted by the warmth of my head, and subsequently convertedinto ice by the intense frost. Large balls of ice also formed upon mycuffs, and underneath my knees, which encumbered me very much in walking, and I had continually to break them off. I tried to supply the place ofmy hat by tying my handkerchief over my head, but found that by nopossible effort could I make a knot, and that I could only keep it on myhead by holding the corners between my teeth. It was equally impossibleto refasten my overcoat, only a thin tweed (for I had dressed lightly, inexpectation of hard exercise), which had become unbuttoned in my lastfall. It may seem absurd to mention it, but the cravings of hunger grewso keen, stimulated as they were by the cold and the great exertion, thatit actually occurred to me whether I could eat one of my old dogskingloves. I was, however, deterred from making the attempt, partly by theprospect of its toughness, and partly by the fear of greater injury to myhands from frost bite, if they were deprived of their last covering. Myexhaustion was so great that I fell down every two or three steps, andthe temptation to give in and lie down in the snow became almostirresistible, and had to be struggled against with every power of mindand body. I endeavoured to keep constantly before me the certain fact, that if sleep once overcame me I should never wake again in this life. The night seemed interminably long. Again and again I tried to calculatethe time, but always came to the same conclusion, that many hours mustelapse before the return of daylight. The wind had gone down, and thestillness became so oppressive, that I often spoke aloud for the sake ofhearing my own voice, and to ascertain that the cold, which was intense, had not deprived me of the power of speech. The hares still sported andburrowed on the hill sides, but excepting these there were no signs oflife whatever. 

Never did shipwrecked mariner watch for the morning more anxiously thandid I through that weary, endless night, for I knew that a glimpse of thedistance in any one direction would enable me to steer my coursehomewards. Day dawned at last, but hope and patience were to be yetfurther tried, for a dense fog clung to the face of the hill, obscuringeverything but the objects close at hand. Furthermore, I discovered thatI was rapidly becoming snow blind. My eyes, which had been considerablyinjured already by the sharp sleet of the evening before, were furtheraffected by the glare of the snow, and I was fast losing all distinctnessof vision. I first learned the extent of this new calamity whenendeavouring, with the earliest light, to look at my watch. It was awork of great difficulty to get it out of my pocket; and when this wasdone, I found that I could not tell the face from the back. The wholething was hazy and indistinct, and I can only describe it as looking likean orange seen through a mist. Such sight as remained rapidly became allconfusion as regarded the form, colour, and proportion of objects. Againand again I thought I saw before me trees and enclosures, but these, whenI came up to them, invariably turned out to be only portions of gorsebushes projecting through the snow. My optical delusions as to _colour_were perhaps the most remarkable; the protruding rocks invariablyappeared of a strange orange yellow, with black lines along them, producing a short of tortoise-shell effect. I took these mysteriousappearances at first for dead animals, ponies or sheep, and touched themto try to ascertain the fact. My hands, however, were so utterly devoidof sensation, that they were of no more use than my eyes in identifyingobjects. I was therefore quite in the dark as to their nature, tillexperience proved them to be rocks with tufts of heather on them. Owingto my failing eyesight, my falls became very frequent, and several ofthem were from heights so great that it would scarcely be believed were Ito attempt to describe them. I may, however, say, that they were such asperfectly to appal those who, a few days afterwards, visited the spotswhere they occurred, and saw the deep impressions in the snow where I hadplunged into it from the rocks above. One fall especially I wellremember. I had just crossed the ridge of a hill, and saw, as Iimagined, close below me a pool covered with ice, which seemed free fromsnow. I thought I would walk across this, and, accordingly, made aslight jump from the rock on which I stood in order to reach it. In amoment, however, I discovered that, instead of on to a pool, I had jumpedinto empty space. I must have fallen on this occasion a considerabledistance, but I was caught in a deep snow-drift, so that, althoughconsiderably shaken and bewildered for the moment by what had happened, Iwas not seriously hurt. 

I have been enabled by various circumstances, and by the help of thosewho followed my tracks before the snow melted, to make out with tolerableaccuracy the course of my wanderings. Those who tracked me say that, "Ifthere was one part of the hill more difficult and dangerous than another, that is the line which Mr. Carr took. " When the morning light firstdawned, I could see that I was walking along the side of a ravine ofgreat depth, and more than usually perpendicular sides; it was so steepthat I could not climb to the top of the ridge and get out of it, and thesnow was in such a very loose, soft state, that I expected every momentit would give way beneath me, and I should be precipitated into thedepths below. I had to walk with the greatest care to prevent this; andI believe that this was a very good thing for me, as it gave my mindcomplete occupation, and kept me from flagging. I could only go straighton, as I could not ascend, and was afraid to descend. My method ofprogression was more crawling than walking, as I had to drive my handsdeep into the snow, and clutch at tufts of grass or heather, or any thingI could find beneath it, to hold on by. I must have gone forward in thisway for an hour or two, when I found the ravine becoming less steep, andI heard the sound of running water very distinctly. Accordingly Ithought I would descend and try once more whether I could walk down thestream, as this by its sound seemed a larger one, and I thought it mighthave cut a way through the drifts. I reached the bottom of the valleysafely. It appears to have been the valley immediately above the LightSpout waterfall, and, trying to walk by the stream, I tumbled over thefirst upper fall. Hearing a noise of falling water, and seeing dimlyrocks all round me, I found it would not do to go forward in thisdirection, so, having unconsciously gone to the very edge of the lowercascade, where I must in all probability have been killed had I fallenover, I turned sharply up the hill again, going over the rocks above, andcoming down again by a very steep place. Round and round this waterfallI seemed to have climbed in every possible direction. A man who hadtracked me, and with whom I visited the place a few weeks ago, said, "Youseem to have had a deal o' work to do here, Sir, " pointing to a smallrocky space at the bottom of the fall. I had imagined, while thus goinground and round as if on a tread mill, that I was walking straightforward down the stream, and I suppose my efforts to keep near the soundof the water misled me. Though perfectly familiar with this part of theLong Mynd, I was so blind at this time, and everything looked so strange, that I did not in the least recognise my position. Finding I did not geton very well, I determined now to try whether I could walk or crawl downthe actual stream itself where it had hollowed its way underneath thedrifts which overhung it, making a sort of low-arched tunnel, which Ithought worth trying. I soon found, however, that this was quiteimpracticable, and that if I went on I should either be suffocated orhopelessly imbedded in the snow, and that then my utmost efforts wouldfail to extricate me. It also occurred to me somewhat painfully, that ifI lost my life, as I thought I inevitably must do now, my body would notbe found for days, or it might be weeks, if it were buried deep in themountain of snow at the bottom of that valley; and I was anxious thatwhat remained of me might be found soon, and that the dreadful suspense, which is worse than the most fearful certainty, might thus be spared toall those who cared about my fate. 

I was not, however, quite beat yet; so, retracing my steps, I determinedonce more to leave the stream and make for the higher ground. But a newmisfortune now befell me: I lost my boots. They were strong laced boots, without elastic sides, or any such weak points about them. I hadobserved before that one was getting loose, but was unable to do anythingto it from the numbness of my hands; and after struggling out of a deepdrift previous to reascending the hill, I found that I had left this bootbehind. There was nothing for it but to go on without, and as my feetwere perfectly numbed from the cold, and devoid of feeling, I did notexperience any difficulty or pain on this account. That boot wasafterwards found on a ledge of rock near the waterfall. I soon afterlost the other one, or rather, I should say, it came off, and I could notget it on again, so I carried it in my hand some time, but lost it in oneof my many severe falls. The fact of the loss of my boots has astonishedall those who have heard of it, and I believe has excited more commentthan any other part of my adventure. I have even heard of its being amatter of fierce dispute, on more than one occasion, whether laced boots_could_ come off in this way. They do not seem to have become unlaced, as the laces were firmly knotted, but had burst in the middle, and thewhole front of the boot had been stretched out of shape from the strainput upon it whilst laboriously dragging my feet out of deep drifts for somany hours together, which I can only describe as acting upon the bootslike a steam-power boot-jack. 

And so for hours I walked on in my stockings without inconvenience. Evenwhen I trod upon gorse bushes, I did not feel it, as my feet had becomeas insensible as my hands. It had occurred to me now that I might be inthe Carding Mill valley, and that I would steer my course on thatsupposition. It was fortunate that I did so, for I was beginning tothink that I could not now hold out much longer, and was struggling in apart where the drifts were up nearly to my neck, when I heard what I hadthought never to hear again--the blessed sound of human voices, children's voices, talking and laughing, and apparently sliding not veryfar off. I called to them with all my might, but judge of my dismay whensudden and total silence took the place of the merry voices I had solately heard! I shouted again and again, and said that I was lost, butthere was no reply. It was a bitter disappointment, something like thatof the sailor shipwrecked on a desert island, who sees a sail approachingand thinks that he is saved, when as he gazes the vessel shifts hercourse and disappears on the horizon, dashing his hopes to the ground. Itappeared, as I learned afterwards, that these children saw _me_, though Icould not see them, and ran away terrified at my unearthly aspect. Doubtless the head of a man protruding from a deep snow drift, crownedand bearded with ice like a ghastly emblem of winter, was a sight tocause a panic among children, and one cannot wonder that they ran off tocommunicate the news that "there was the bogie in the snow. " Happily, however, for the bogie, he had noticed the direction from which thesevoices came, and struggling forward again, I soon found myselfsufficiently near to the Carding Mill to recognise the place, blind as Iwas. A little girl now ventured to approach me, as, true to theinstincts of her nature, the idea dawned upon her that I was no goblin ofthe mountains, no disagreeable thing from a world beneath popped upthrough the snow, but a real fellow-creature in distress. I spoke to herand told her that I was the clergyman of Ratlinghope, and had been lostin the snow on the hill all night. As she did not answer at once, Isuppose she was taking a careful observation of me, for after a fewmoments she said, "Why, you look like Mr. Carr of Wolstaston. " "I am Mr. Carr, " I replied; whereupon the boys, who had previously run away, and, as I imagine, taken refuge behind the girl, came forward and helped me onto the little hamlet, only a few yards distant, where some half dozencottages are clustered together round the Carding Mill. 

I was saved, at any rate, from immediate peril, though I fully expectedthat serious illness must follow from my violent exertions and longexposure. I was saved at all events from the death of lonely horroragainst which I had wrestled so many hours in mortal conflict, andscarcely knew how to believe that I was once more among my fellow-men, under a kindly, hospitable roof. God's hand had led me thither. Nowisdom or power of my own could have availed for my deliverance, whenonce my sight was so much gone. The Good Shepherd had literally, in verydeed, led the blind by a way that he knew not to a refuge of safety andpeace. 

The good kind people at the Carding Mill, you may be sure, soon gatheredround me in sympathising wonder, and I was quickly supplied with suchcomforts as they could give. I told them that I had had scarcelyanything to eat since breakfast the day before (as I had been too muchhurried to eat my luncheon before starting to Ratlinghope), and so teaand bread and butter were at once provided. The former was verygrateful, but I could hardly eat the latter, as all feeling of hunger hadleft me. The good people were much shocked to find that I could not pickup a piece of bread and butter for myself, as I could neither feel it norsee it; I believe they thought my sight was hopelessly gone. I was, however, under no uneasiness myself on this score, as I was perfectlyfamiliar with snow blindness, having seen cases of it in Switzerland, andknew that in all probability my eyes would get quite right again in aweek's time, as it turned out that they did. They also discovered thatthe middle finger of my right hand was terribly lacerated, and that theskin was completely stripped off the back of it. This I knew to be amuch more serious affair, as the frost had evidently got fast hold of it, and I thought it very likely that I should lose it. This, however, seemed a very trifling matter to me then. Had it been my right arm Ishould have thought nothing of it, after so marvellous an escape. I wasprovided at the Carding Mill with a hat, boots, and dry stockings; andhaving rested about a quarter of an hour, set out again to ChurchStretton, about a mile distant. A man from the cottage came with me, andgave me his arm, and with this assistance I accomplished the walk withcomparative ease. I was so anxious to get home, that I almost felt as ifI could have walked the whole way, though I do not suppose that I couldreally have done so, my home being rather more than five miles off. Arrived at the town, I sent my companion for medical assistance, andmyself made my way to the Crown Inn. I could discern large objectssufficiently to find my way along the street, though all was blurred andindistinct, and the admission of light to my eyes was beginning to causeme extreme pain. I ordered a fly immediately to take me as far aspossible on my road home. No vehicle of any description had been alongthe turnpike road that day, and it was very doubtful how far a fly couldgo, so it was arranged that we should be accompanied by a man on a saddlehorse, that I might ride when the fly could go no further, as I knewthat, under the most favourable circumstances, the last mile and a halfof the road to Wolstaston would be inaccessible to wheels. 

Of course my adventure excited great interest at the Crown Hotel, when itwas fully understood what had happened to me. It was just two o'clock inthe afternoon when I reached that place, and as I had left Ratlinghope atfour o'clock on the previous afternoon, I had been walkinguninterruptedly for twenty-two hours, excepting the quarter of an hour Ihad rested at the Carding Mill. My good friends at the hotel discoveredthat my clothes were very wet, for they had been frozen before and werenow thawed, so I was dressed up in the landlord's garments. The effectmust have been very ludicrous, for he was a much stouter man than I wasat any time, and now I had shrunk away to nothing. It will not thereforebe wondered at that people when they saw me declared they should not haveknown who I was. 

The surgeon having come and dressed my finger, and warned me to keep awayfrom the fire and hot water, and having prescribed some hot brandy andwater, I started in my fly on my homeward journey. Very slow was ourprogress. We had taken spades with us, and many times the driver and theman who accompanied him had to dig a way for the fly to get through. Mosttrying was the long delay thus caused to a man who knew that in his ownhome he must probably be reckoned among the dead; but there was no helpfor it, and at last Leebotwood was reached, the place where the lane toWolstaston turned off from the main road, and where I was to leave thefly, and, as I hoped, ride home. 

The Post Office is at Leebotwood, and having given orders there that anyletters coming from my house should be stopped, I was helped on my horse, and, accompanied by the man, began to ascend the hill. I had not gone ahundred yards, when it became evident that it would be impossible to ridefar, and that I should be obliged to walk again, so the horse was sentback to Leebotwood by a man whom we met, and I started again on my ownfeet. Just at this time we met another man coming down over the fieldsfrom Wolstaston. He had letters with him to post; those letters werefrom my home. They were to say that I had been lost in the snow storm, that every effort had been made to find me, that they had provedfruitless, and that there was no hope left. I sent this messenger backagain pretty quickly, and told him to go home as fast as he could and sayI was coming. This news reached the village about half an hour before Icould get up there myself, and as may be supposed there was greatrejoicing. So completely had all hope of my safety been given up, thatto my people it seemed almost like a resurrection from the dead. 

They had made the greatest efforts to find me. Twice a party had gone upthe hill on the Sunday night to the limit of the enclosed ground, andstayed there calling and shouting, till, as one of them said to me, theyfelt that if they had stayed there another ten minutes, they would havebeen frozen to death. The second time they went up that night, theyactually got on to the open moorland some two or three hundred yards, buthere they were in imminent danger of being lost themselves. One of themindeed declared that he could not return, and would have been lost hadnot his companions insisted on his struggling back with them. Humaneffort could do no more, and they made their toilsome way home prostratedwith fatigue. 

It was a fearful moment, they tell me, when the Rectory house was closedup for the night, the shutters fastened, and curtains drawn, with thefate of its master unknown. The helpless watchers could only wait andcount the weary hours, keeping food hot for the wanderer, who they fearedwould never return, and unable till the morning to plan any furtherefforts for his rescue. The awful wind raged on, sometimes assuming tothe ears of the excited listeners the sound of rolling wheels and horses'feet, startling them into expectation, though they knew that the tramp ofan army would have fallen noiseless on that depth of snow. Then again, it rose like shrieks and wild calls of distress, and every now and thenwould smite the house with a buffet, as though it would level it with theground. 

The storm lulled at length, as the hours went slowly by. Morning cameand the men prepared to resume their almost hopeless search once more. They started, about twenty strong, armed with spades and shovels, anddetermined first of all to cut their way to Ratlinghope, thinking thatperhaps I had remained there all night. They worked with all theirmight, but the snow was deeper than ever, and their progress waslaborious and very slow. Though they had started as soon as it was lightin the morning, they did not reach Ratlinghope till noon, and then theirlast hope was dashed to the ground, for they heard that I _had_ startedthe previous afternoon, though pressed to remain in the village for thenight. Great was the consternation of the Ratlinghope people when theyheard the news. They knew the hill well, and said with one consent, "IfMr. Carr was on the Long Mynd last night, he is a dead man. " Thisconviction too was strengthened by the sad fact, that that very morningthe dead body of a man, whom we all knew well, had been found in the roadfrozen to death, not more than one hundred and fifty yards from a smallhamlet in the parish of Ratlinghope, known as "The Bridges. " PoorEasthope, for such was his name, was a journeyman shoemaker by trade. Heowned a few ponies which were on the hill, and he had been looking afterthese on the Sunday. I suppose he was much exhausted by this, but he hadsafely reached his daughter's house in the evening, which he subsequentlyleft to go to the place where he worked, no great distance off. He wasfound, as I have said, the next morning frozen to death on the turnpikeroad. It is conjectured that he either sat down to rest or fell down, and that he speedily became insensible. I think this fact in itself issufficient to prove that, had I given way to the temptation to rest, Itoo should have lost my life. 

The searching party, reinforced by most of the able-bodied men inRatlinghope, beat that part of the hill lying between Ratlinghope andWolstaston thoroughly, thinking that I must be somewhere in the tractbetween the two places, never supposing that I could have wandered as faraway as I actually had done. The fog was so thick that it was only bykeeping near to each other and shouting constantly that this party wasable to keep together. I need not say that they failed to discover anytrace of me, and about three o'clock in the afternoon, worn out andexhausted, they returned to the Rectory with the worst tidings. "He mustbe dead, " they said, "he must _be_ dead; it is not possible that anyhuman creature could have lived through such a night. " And it was uponthe receipt of these tidings that the letters were sent off which I sofortunately succeeded in stopping. Half-an-hour after, the news camethat I was returning, and in another half-hour I was at home. This wasbetween four and five o'clock in the afternoon, rather more than twenty-seven hours from the time I had left Wolstaston. 

My friends tell me that had they not known who it was, they wouldscarcely have recognised me. Dressed in another man's clothes, exceedingly thin, with eyes fearfully bloodshot, and fingers stiff andshrunken, the middle finger more resembling a dead stick, they say, withthe gray and wrinkled bark on, than the living member of a human body, this is scarcely to be wondered at. I was glad to go to bed at once, andto have my feet and hands well rubbed with snow. This, it should be wellknown, is the only thing to be done in cases of frost bite. Had I putthem in hot water, I should in all probability have lost my fingers andtoes; they would have sloughed off. I know of several cases where thishas happened; indeed, I heard of one quite lately, for the gardener of afriend of mine in Warwickshire had his hands frost-bitten while throwingthe snow off the roof of a house during this last winter, andinjudiciously putting them into hot water, the result has been that hehas lost the ends of all his fingers, to the first joint. In my case, Iam thankful to say I knew better than to do this, and by the use of coldwater and continued friction have succeeded in restoring my hands in agreat measure. They have still not nearly as much sensation in them asbefore, but this will return with time. During the last few weeks, gorsepricks have been working out of my hands and feet and legs by hundreds, though at first, from the numbness of the skin, I was quite unconsciousof them. It is not to be wondered at that I should have picked these upin great numbers whilst walking through the gorse bushes without myboots, and clutching at them as I fell in hopes of saving myself. 

Such are the details of my "Night in the Snow, " and my most wonderfulpreservation through it and the following day. I trust that no one whomay chance to read these pages will ever be placed in a similar position;but should it so happen, I hope that the remembrance of my adventure willoccur to them; for surely it teaches, as plainly as anything can, thateven in the most adverse circumstances no one need ever despair; andshows how an individual of no unusual physical powers may, by God's help, resist the overwhelming temptation to sleep which is usually so fatal tothose who are lost in the snow. 

LORIMER AND CHALMERS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.