The Boy Hunters. Reid Mayne
stature, a pair of tremendous moustachios, that curved over his mouth so as almost to hide it. These gave him a somewhat fierce aspect, which, combined with his upright carriage, and brisk mechanical-like movements, told you at once what Hugot had been – a French soldier. He was, in fact, a ci-devant corporal of chasseurs. Landi had been his colonel. The rest you will easily guess. He had followed his old leader to America, and was now his man for everything. It was not often that you could see the naturalist without also seeing Hugot’s great moustachios close by his elbow. It would have killed Hugot to have been separated for any length of time from his old colonel.
Of course Hugot accompanied his master in all his hunting expeditions. So, too, did the boys, as soon as they were able to sit upon a horse. On these occasions the house would be shut up, for there was no housekeeper nor any other domestic about the establishment. It would remain thus for days, sometimes for weeks together – for the naturalist with his party often made distant excursions into the surrounding forests. They would return laden with spoils – skins of birds and beasts, plants, and rare geological specimens. Then whole days would be spent in the arrangement of these new acquisitions. Thus did Landi and his family pass their time.
Hugot was cook, valet, groom, butler, and errand boy. I have already stated that no other domestic, male or female, lived in the house: Hugot, therefore, was chambermaid as well. His manifold occupations, however, were not so difficult to fulfil as might at first appear. The Colonel was a man of simple habits. He had learned these when a soldier, and he brought up his sons to live like himself. He ate plain food, drank only water, and slept upon a camp-bed with a buffalo-robe and a blanket. A laundress in Point Coupée kept the linen clean; and Hugot was not near so busy with house affairs as you might suppose. He made daily journeys to the village – to the market, and the post-office, from which he often brought letters, many of them with large seals, and the arms of a prince upon them! Sometimes, too, after a steamer had called at the landing, parcels arrived containing books – scientific books they were – or curious instruments. Notwithstanding all this, there was nothing mysterious about the life of the hunter-naturalist. He was no misanthrope. He often visited the village, and would gossip with old hunters and others who lived there. The villagers knew him as the “old Colonel,” and respected him. They only wondered at his tastes as a naturalist, which to them seemed strange. They wondered, too, how he managed to keep house without a maid-servant. But the Colonel did not trouble his head about their conjectures. He only laughed at their curious inquiries, and remained on as good terms as ever. His boys, too, as they grew up became great favourites with all. They were the best shots of their age, could ride a horse with any, could swim the Mississippi, paddle a canoe, fling a lasso, or spear a catfish, as though they had been full-grown men. They were, in fact, boy-men; and as such were regarded by the simple villagers, who instinctively felt the superiority which education and training had given to these youths over their own uneducated minds. The boys, notwithstanding these advantages, were affable with the villagers; hence the respect in which they were universally held.
None of his neighbours ever visited the Colonel, except on matters of business. Indeed he had no visitors of any sort, if we except one or two of his former military associates, who lived at New Orleans, and came up to his house about once a-year to talk over old times, and taste his venison. On such occasions “Napoleon le Grand” was of course the main subject of conversation. Like all old soldiers of the Empire, Landi worshipped Napoleon; but there was one of the Bonaparte family for whom the naturalist entertained a still higher feeling of regard, amounting in fact to sincere friendship. This was Charles Lucien, prince of Musignano.
Not all the Bonapartes have been bad. Some of the members of that remarkable family have given evidence to the world that they were the possessors of noble virtue. The quiet researches of the Prince of Musignano as a student of natural history, may be looked upon as so many conquests in the kingdom of Nature; and though they have been eclipsed by the more brilliant and sanguinary triumphs of the Emperor, yet do they far more entitle him to the gratitude and respect of men. He was the true hero of the hunter-naturalist Landi.
For many years did Colonel Landi lead the life we have described. An event at length happened that was near proving fatal to him. He had been wounded in the leg during his campaigns in the Peninsula. A fall from his horse reopened this wound, and amputation became necessary. This saved his life, but he could no longer partake of the amusements of the chase, although still able to indulge in the more delicate pursuits of the naturalist. With his wooden leg he was able to hobble about the house and lawn, prune the trees, and attend to his pets that had grown to be quite numerous, while Hugot at all times followed him about like his shadow. The boys, however, went abroad on hunting expeditions, and collected specimens as formerly; and the life of all went on pretty much as usual.
Thus it was when I first became acquainted with the naturalist, his man Hugot, and his three sons – the Boy Hunters, the heroes of our little book.
Young reader, permit me to introduce you to a more intimate acquaintance with them. I fancy you will like them – all three – and be happy for some time in their society.
Chapter Three.
The Prince’s Letter
It is a lovely morning in Spring as we approach their dwelling. We enter the lawn by a side-gate. We need not go into the house, for there is no one within doors. The weather is too fine for that, but they are all at home notwithstanding. They are in the lawn in front, and the verandah.
They are differently occupied. The Colonel himself is engaged feeding his pets. Hugot is helping him, and carries the basket containing their food.
You would call the Colonel a fine-looking man. His hair is as white as bleached flax. So, too, are his moustaches. He wears no beard. His face is cleanly shaved, showing a complexion bronzed and somewhat ruddy. The expression of his countenance is mild, though firm. He is much thinner than he has been in his time, on account of the amputation of his leg, which often produces this effect. His dress is simple. A jacket of yellow nankeen, a striped cotton shirt, with loose cottonade trousers of bright sky colour. A Panama hat, with very broad brim, shades his eyes from the sun, and his shirt is open at the throat, for the day is warm. Thus is the Colonel attired. Hugot is dressed after a somewhat similar fashion; but the material of his jacket and trousers is coarser, and his hat is of the common palmetto leaf.
Look at Basil, the oldest of the boys. He is at work fixing some straps to a hunting-saddle, that lies on the grass beside him. Basil is exactly seventeen years of age. He is a fine-looking lad, though not what you might call handsome. His face has a courageous expression, and his form betokens strength. His hair is straight, and black as jet. He is more like an Italian than either of his brothers. He is, in fact, the son of his father – a true Corsican. Basil is a “mighty hunter.” He is more fond of the chase than of aught else. He loves hunting for itself, and delights in its dangers. He has got beyond the age of bird-catching and squirrel shooting. His ambition is not now to be satisfied with anything less exciting than a panther, bear, or buffalo hunt.
How very unlike him is Lucien, the second in age! Unlike in almost everything. Lucien is delicately formed, with a light complexion and very fair hair. He is more like what his mother was, for she was fair-haired and blonde, as are many of her people – the Basques. Lucien is passionately fond of books and study. He is busy with a book just now in the verandah. He is a student of natural history in general, but botany and geology are his favourite sciences, and he has made considerable progress in both. He accompanies Basil on all hunting expeditions; but, in the midst of the most exciting chase, Lucien would leap down from his horse if a rare plant or flower, or an odd-looking rock, was to fall under his eye. Lucien talks but little – not half so much as most boys – but although habitually silent he possesses a rare good sense; and when he offers his advice upon any question, it is usually received with respect by the others. Such is the secret influence of intellect and education.
Next and last, we have François, a quick-witted, curly-haired urchin – merry to madness – cheerful at all times – changeable in his tastes and likings – versatile in talents – in short, more of a Frenchman than any of them. François is a great bird-catcher. He is at this moment engaged in repairing his nets; and his double-barrel shot gun, which he has just finished cleaning, rests beside him. François is a favourite