Roofs were humps in the white blanket.

The spire of the Established Kirk stood up cold and stiff, like a monument to the buried inhabitants.
Those of the natives who had taken the precaution of conveying spades into their houses the night before, which is my plan at the schoolhouse, dug themselves out.

They hobbled cautiously over the snow, sometimes sinking into it to their knees, when they stood still and slowly took in the situation.

It had been snowing more or less for a week, but in a commonplace kind of way, and they had gone to bed thinking all was well.

This night the snow must have fallen as if the heavens had opened up, determined to shake themselves free of it for ever.
The man who first came to himself and saw what was to be done was young Henders Ramsay.