A Night in the Snow | Page 3

It not unfrequently happened in winter, when the snow was very deep, or much drifted, that it was impossible to ride across the hill, and the expedition then had to be performed on foot; still I always managed to cross somehow, in spite of wind or weather, so that during the last eight years and a half the little mountain church has never been without one Sunday service. I find that during that time I have crossed the Long Mynd (in round numbers) nearly two thousand five hundred times; consequently my knowledge of the country became so intimate, that I felt equally at home upon the hill in all weathers, and at all hours of the day and night. On one occasion, I had to cross it late on a November night and in a dense fog, when returning home from Ratlinghope, and met with no accident; and I think that this and similar experiences made me somewhat over confident. I mention this to show how little the most perfect acquaintance with country will avail any one when overtaken by such a blinding snow storm as that of the 29th of January last.
During the preceding week the snow fell heavily, and accumulated on the hills to a greater depth than had been known for fifty-one years. Public opinion was unanimous that there had been nothing like it since 1814. A strong wind, moreover, had so drifted it that the roads were impassable, and the communication between neighbouring villages, and even between houses in the same village, almost ceased. Letters wont to be received in the morning arrived late in the day, or not at all; and unhappy folk who were unprovided with a good store of food and coals had either to borrow of their neighbours or starve. The morning service at Wolstaston on Sunday the 29th was of necessity but thinly attended, and it seemed probable that I should not even be expected at Ratlinghope. As, however, the service there had never been omitted owing to bad weather, I was anxious to get to my little church if possible; in fact, I considered it my duty to make the attempt, though I felt very doubtful whether I should succeed.
Accordingly, very soon after morning service at Wolstaston was over, I started on the expedition. I was in such a hurry to be off that I could not stay to take my usual luncheon, but swallowed a few mouthfuls of soup, and put a small flask containing about three ounces of brandy in my pocket. My taking anything of the kind with me was a most unprecedented circumstance. I only remember one other occasion in which I did so, and that was also in a very deep snow; but now foreseeing a walk of no common difficulty, I thought the precaution a wise one, and saw reason afterwards to be thankful that I had adopted it.
I started on horseback, though I knew that I could only ride a short distance, but thought it advisable to save myself all unnecessary fatigue. I was of course accompanied by a servant to bring back the horses when they were of no further use. By leaving the lane and making our way across the fields over hedge and ditch, we contrived to ride about half a mile. The horses then became useless, as the drifts were so deep against the hedges and gates, that the poor animals became imbedded in them, and were unable to find any firm footing to leap from. The servant therefore had to return with them long before I reached the unenclosed mountain land, and I proceeded on my way alone.
The journey proved more difficult even than I had expected. The snow was for the most part up to the knees and very soft, and the drifts were so deep that they could only be crossed by crawling on hands and knees, as any one will readily understand who has attempted to cross deep snow when in a soft state. When I reached the open moorland the day was bright and fine, and the snow stretched around me for miles in a dazzling expanse very painful to the eyes, and unbroken by track, landmark, or footprint of any living creature. The form of the country, however, was a sufficient guide to my destination, and after a severe struggle over and through the drifts, I reached my little church at a quarter-past three o'clock, just two hours and a quarter from the time I had left Wolstaston. A few people were assembled together, though no one had really expected me, and after a short service I started on my homeward journey, having refused the invitations of my kind people to stay the night amongst them, as I was anxious to get back