A score of men and boys clung to the sides of that big, hollow wedge, and put their weight on it as the oxen pulled.

We got on with the others, I remember, and I was swept off as soon as the scraper started by a roaring avalanche of snow that came down upon our heads and buried me completely.

I was up again and had a fresh hold in a jiffy, and clung to my place until I was nearly smothered by the flying snow.

It was great fun for me, and they were all shouting and hallooing as if it were a fine holiday.

They made slow progress, however, and we left them shortly on their promise to try to reach us before night.