by Arthur Heinemann
”…The little terriers invariably excite the sympathy of ladies out with the field, and many a mile have tender arms carried little Venus. As for Nellie, she absolutely owes her life to a good sportswoman, who pluckily rescued her at a kill from amid the growling mass of hounds. They had pulled down their otter on land, running from scent to view before I could get to them. There are, I am aware, differences of opinion among Masters touching the presence of ladies in the field, but, whatever may be said of fox-hunting, where the circumstances are very different, my opinion is that they are absolutely in place with otterhounds, and that they nowhere show to more advantage than beside the water in the blue, red, or green of the hunt uniform. And what an example they sometimes set us men! I have known them stick to hounds until the last moment when these are called off, taking their place in the stickles or fords. I have seen them kneel down in the water rather than let an otter pass untailed.
Many is the first welcome Tally ho! from one of these ladies, quick of eye and swift of foot. The most remarkable performance of the kind that ever came to my notice was in Suffolk, on a day when, even at six in the morning, the heat was tropical. Hounds were a bit above themselves, and, as they dashed to water in the pride of the morning, they at once hit off a burning trail. Away they went full cry up stream, galloping past the front whip at a pace terrific to those who had only their feet to depend on. Horn and voice neither stopped nor yet steadied them, and, with such a burning scent they could hardly be blamed. To me came a lady, with a most business-like whip slung around her, and asked me if she should turn them to me. Too amazed to take the proposal seriously, I merely indicated Harlequin and Damper (The Hounds) just disappearing round a bend in the dim distance. She assured me, however, that that was nothing, since she was used to running. She was. Back they all came, rough hound and smooth hound, and close behind them the lady herself, hot but triumphant. She had got to their heads. And only the day before she had come seventy miles on her bicycle to get to hounds. No wonder Whyte Melville said the race was in the ascendant! “