Gents Mag 1899 part 2 p.546
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Gentleman's Magazine 1899 part 2 p.546
sheep, on a fine afternoon, commence to huddle towards the walls and under the crags, the foxes run slily towards their earth, the hawks and ravens congregate round their unclimbable nesting-places and scream derision at the deepening silence. A thunderstorm is approaching. For the past few days a dense bank of vapour has been collecting in the south-west, heavy and black at sunrise, dissipating into a distant dancing blue at midday, and massing again at sunset. A slight breeze rustles among the grass and heather, cooling the feverish air; a sound like the slaking of quicklime rolls up the valley. The sky grows still darker, and the shepherd seeks a shelter whence he can see his flock. There is a momentary lifting of the clouds, and then, dark grey with falling rain, they swoop along the distant fells. A ragged flash of lightning illumines the valley-head, a peal of thunder crashes, and the storm begins. Every half-minute the scene is lit up, and crash and roar re-echo through the glens. Now to the parched slopes, the dingy crags, and the shrunken rills comes the rain in sheets. In half an hour every defile is full of water, and it is a time of great danger to the sheep who have sheltered there. Trapped by the flood on some grassy level they are swept away and drowned, and the screaming, wheeling scavengers of the fells mark where the body lies. The storm ceases almost as abruptly as ir began, the sun shines out, and the mountain sides are redolent of new life. Now summer draws to a close; frost rime covers the grass at daybreak, the days get perceptibly shorter, high winds are frequent. At first the shepherd drives his flock along the higher ground, to conserve the more convenient forage for days when fog banks and snow will not permit a visit to the tops. The heather on the moor dies from purple to brown, the grassy slopes assume a flabby yellow, the becks swell out under the liberal rains, and everywhere the approach of winter is enclosed. A very anxious period to the shepherd is this. So long as there is grass he must drive his flock along those wide upland plains where the cold north-easter races, over which snow and rain squalls hover. The work is one of inconceivable discomfort, the most harassing side of a disagreeable calling. During these patrols one or two sheep may elude the vigilance of the shepherd and his dogs, and these are seldom folded home. The fox and the raven squabble over the carcases. Occasionally the dogs bring the flock home through the whirling flakes without the shepherd's aid - he has walked in the semi-darkness associated with a mountain snowstorm on to the treacherous fringe of a ghyll, and been hurled fifty feet or more into its bed. |
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