The Thing Dreaded Has Come At Last, A
Snow-Storm, With A North-East Wind.
It ceased about midnight,
but not till it had covered my bed.
Then the mercury fell below
zero, and everything froze. I melted a tin of water for washing
by the fire, but it was hard frozen before I could use it. My
hair, which was thoroughly wet with the thawed snow of yesterday,
is hard frozen in plaits. The milk and treacle are like rock,
the eggs have to be kept on the coolest part of the stove to keep
them fluid. Two calves in the shed were frozen to death. Half
our floor is deep in snow, and it is so cold that we cannot open
the door to shovel it out. The snow began again at eight this
morning, very fine and hard. It blows in through the chinks and
dusts this letter while I write. Mr. Kavan keeps my ink bottle
close to the fire, and hands it to me every time that I need to
dip my pen. We have a huge fire, but cannot raise the
temperature above 20 degrees. Ever since I returned the lake has
been hard enough to bear a wagon, but to-day it is difficult to
keep the water hole open by the constant use of the axe. The
snow may either melt or block us in. Our only anxiety is about
the supplies. We have tea and coffee enough to last over
to-morrow, the sugar is just done, and the flour is getting low.
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