it ever had snowed before,
so far as a man might guess at it; and the leaden depth of the sky came
down, like a mine turned upside down on us. Not that the flakes were
so very large; for I have seen much larger flakes in a shower of March,
while sowing peas; but that there was no room between them, neither any
relaxing, nor any change of direction.

Watch, like a good and faithful dog, followed us very cheerfully,
leaping out of the depth, which took him over his back and ears already,
even in the level places; while in the drifts he might have sunk to any
distance out of sight, and never found his way up again. However, we
helped him now and then, especially through the gaps and gateways; and
so after a deal of floundering, some laughter, and a little swearing, we
came all safe to the lower meadow, where most of our flock was hurdled.

But behold, there was no flock at all! None, I mean, to be seen
anywhere; only at one corner of the field, by the eastern end, where the
snow drove in, a great white billow, as high as a barn, and as broad as
a house. This great drift was rolling and curling beneath the violent
blast, tufting and combing with rustling swirls, and carved (as in
patterns of cornice) where the grooving chisel of the wind swept round.
Ever and again the tempest snatched little whiffs from the channelled
edges, twirled them round and made them dance over the chime of the
monster pile, then let them lie like herring-bones, or the seams of sand
where the tide has been. And all the while from the smothering sky, more
and more fiercely at every blast, came the pelting, pitiless arrows,
winged with murky white, and pointed with the barbs of frost.

But although for people who had no sheep, the sight was a very fine one
(so far at least as the weather permitted any sight at all); yet for us,
with our flock beneath it, this great mount had but little charm. Watch
began to scratch at once, and to howl along the sides of it; he knew
that his charge was buried there, and his business taken from him. But
we four men set to in earnest, digging with all our might and main,
shovelling away at the great white pile, and fetching it into the
meadow. Each man made for himself a cave, scooping at the soft, cold
flux, which slid upon him at every stroke, and throwing it out behind
him, in piles of castled fancy. At last we drove our tunnels in (for
we worked indeed for the lives of us), and all converging towards the
middle,