It was very cold, and he was soon covered with the frozen
particles from the clouds as they drifted against him in the wind, which
gave out a mournful sound like a funeral dirge as it drove against the
rocks.
He walked round the tower several times before he could find a way down
on the other side, but at length his attention was attracted by a black
peak of rock rising above the snow, and to his astonishment, in a
sheltered corner behind it, he could distinctly see the footprints of a
man and a small animal, probably a dog, that had gone down behind the
rock just before the snow had frozen. The prints were not visible
anywhere else, but, fortunately, it happened to be the right way, and he
crossed the dreaded "Saddleback" with a precipice on each side of him
without knowing they were there. It was a providential escape, and when
he got clear of the clouds and saw miles of desolate rocky country
before him bounded by the dark sea in the background and strode down the
remainder of the seven miles from the top of Snowdon, his feelings of
thankfulness to the Almighty may be better imagined than described. He
himself--a first-class walker--always considered they were the longest
and quickest he ever accomplished.
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