THE BRAES OF DERWENT COUNTRY. 69 



This was the longest hunt I over saw in my life, and the 

 marvellous part of it was that so small a number of hounds 

 should have been able to stick to a line in such fashion. Scent 

 of course was undeniable, but I may explain for the benefit 

 of those who do not know the country that we never went 

 near a village (there are practically none in the district), nor 

 very near a farmhouse, and, indeed, it would be difl&cult to 

 find a country anywhere so quiet and peaceable as this on a 

 day when hounds are not expected, but run into it from some 

 distant place. John Greenwell a day or two later wrote an 

 account of the hunt, intending to send it to a local paper, 

 but it never went, and I have treasured it until the writing 

 has become so faint that it is almost undecipherable. Those 

 who know the country will appreciate the fact that with a 

 fox found at Gibraltar and hunted — after the first half -hour 

 — by nine hounds only, we traversed nearly two-thirds of the 

 Braes of Derwent country, went round, and worked back to 

 within about half a dozen miles of the place we had originally 

 come from. 



Colonel Cowen was a tremendous favourite with all sections 

 of society, and a kindlier man never wore scarlet. He had 

 great enthusiasm, too, but he was not altogether orthodox in 

 his methods of hunting a country, and, notably, concerning 

 the hour of starting. This lack of punctuality was, however, 

 entirely due to the fact that his friends, wherever he met, 

 insisted on providing entertainment for the inner man, and 

 though the Colonel (who was an early riser) and his hounds 

 would be at the appointed place of meeting well before the 

 advertised time ol half-past ten, he did not like to disappoint 

 them. Strangers and occasional visitors to the pack at all 

 times received a most hearty welcome, but the arrival of one 

 or two late comers often meant further delay, pending the 

 refreshment of the delinquents. I well remember one lawn 

 meet at Sherburn Towers, then the residemce of the late Mr. 

 Gray, for the gallop which followed what the Scotch call 

 the " sederunt " was about the fastest and best I ever saw 

 in the Colonel's country. I remember that I was very late, 

 and also that on the road to the meet I caught up two neigh- 

 bours equally late. We had hoped that hounds might not 

 have got away from the first draw, and our road to the covert 



