A Night in the Snow | Page 8

try once more
whether I could walk down the stream, as this by its sound seemed a
larger one, and I thought it might have cut a way through the drifts. I
reached the bottom of the valley safely. It appears to have been the
valley immediately above the Light Spout waterfall, and, trying to walk
by the stream, I tumbled over the first upper fall. Hearing a noise of
falling water, and seeing dimly rocks all round me, I found it would not
do to go forward in this direction, so, having unconsciously gone to the

very edge of the lower cascade, where I must in all probability have
been killed had I fallen over, I turned sharply up the hill again, going
over the rocks above, and coming down again by a very steep place.
Round and round this waterfall I seemed to have climbed in every
possible direction. A man who had tracked me, and with whom I
visited the place a few weeks ago, said, "You seem to have had a deal
o' work to do here, Sir," pointing to a small rocky space at the bottom
of the fall. I had imagined, while thus going round and round as if on a
tread mill, that I was walking straight forward down the stream, and I
suppose my efforts to keep near the sound of the water misled me.
Though perfectly familiar with this part of the Long 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 get on very well, I
determined now to try whether I could walk or crawl down the actual
stream itself where it had hollowed its way underneath the drifts which
overhung it, making a sort of low-arched tunnel, which I thought worth
trying. I soon found, however, that this was quite impracticable, and
that if I went on I should either be suffocated or hopelessly imbedded
in the snow, and that then my utmost efforts would fail to extricate me.
It also occurred to me somewhat painfully, that if I lost my life, as I
thought I inevitably must do now, my body would not be found for
days, or it might be weeks, if it were buried deep in the mountain of
snow at the bottom of that valley; and I was anxious that what
remained of me might be found soon, and that the dreadful suspense,
which is worse than the most fearful certainty, might thus be spared to
all those who cared about my fate.
I was not, however, quite beat yet; so, retracing my steps, I determined
once more to leave the stream and make for the higher ground. But a
new misfortune now befell me: I lost my boots. They were strong laced
boots, without elastic sides, or any such weak points about them. I had
observed before that one was getting loose, but was unable to do
anything to it from the numbness of my hands; and after struggling out
of a deep drift previous to reascending the hill, I found that I had left
this boot behind. There was nothing for it but to go on without, and as
my feet were perfectly numbed from the cold, and devoid of feeling, I
did not experience any difficulty or pain on this account. That boot was

afterwards found on a ledge of rock near the waterfall. I soon after lost
the other one, or rather, I should say, it came off, and I could not get it
on again, so I carried it in my hand some time, but lost it in one of my
many severe falls. The fact of the loss of my boots has astonished all
those who have heard of it, and I believe has excited more comment
than any other part of my adventure. I have even heard of its being a
matter 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 the whole front of the boot had been stretched out of shape from
the strain put upon it whilst laboriously dragging my feet out of deep
drifts for so many hours together, which I can only describe as acting
upon the boots like a steam-power boot-jack.
And so for hours I walked on in my stockings without inconvenience.
Even when I trod upon gorse bushes, I did not feel it, as my feet had
become as insensible as my hands. It had occurred to me now that I
might be in the Carding Mill valley, and that I would steer my