THE NORTH DURHAM COUNTRY. 19 



recoilectioii of a very curious day we had together. The meet 

 was at the Bay Horse, Caistleside, when Mr. Greenwell owned 

 the adjoining farm of Hole House. We had only arranged 

 the hunt at Broomshields overnight, and there was no 

 " field "; in fact, when we started only " Bob " Davison, 

 the host of the Bay Horse, was with us. The intention was 

 to find a hare on Hole House farm, and hounds were taken 

 to a few acres of turnips and at once went away on a strong 

 line, for we saw nothing. They quickly crossed the road into 

 Castleside Wood, and, getting through it much quicker than 

 we did, were soon two fields in front. Running on hard, they 

 were soon on the open moor at Whitehall, where they 

 began to travel more slowly through the heather. We were 

 now pretty sure that they had got on to the line of a travelling 

 fox — it was at the beginning of February — and we debated 

 whether we should stop them while we had the chance. It 

 was decdded " just to see what they made of it," and a moment 

 later they were going again, much faster because they were on 

 a sheep track. Bearing gradually left-handed, they reached 

 the Stuartfield Lodge Plantation, and now we agreed that if 

 possible they should be stopped. But the covert just named 

 was then terribly thick, and difficult for horses in the centre, 

 and, though we could hear hounds, we could not reach them. 

 After some time, and a great deal of horn blowing, it became 

 certain they had gone on ; but we could find no trace of them, 

 and we separated, and each of us rode about the country 

 until dark, vainly looking for hounds. When I reached 

 Broomshields John Greenwell was standing at the kennel door, 

 and announced that a single hound had cast up. We spent 

 an anxious evening, going constantly to the kennel ; but I do 

 not recollect that any more hounds turned up, and it was a 

 night of terrible storm, so that anything like a search party 

 was out of the question. We were astir early the next 

 morning, and shortly after daylight a lad on a pony appeared, 

 with a dirty piece of paper in his hand, on which was scrawled, 

 " Dogs is here." There was no name or address, but the lad 

 explsiined that he came from an out-of-the-way moorland farm, 

 that just before dusk on the preceding afternoon the dogs had 

 rushed into their " back hemmel " — a local word describing a 

 cowhouse, or similar outbuilding. This particular " back 



