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Updated: June 16, 2025
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.
They were a long three weeks to the old Colonel, who was troubled with apprehensions that Hugot would not succeed in his errand. He had written in reply to the letter of Prince Bonaparte. He had written promising to procure if possible a white buffalo-skin for this was what the Prince's letter was about; and not for half what he was worth would the Colonel have failed to accomplish this object.
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.
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.
It was not grief that killed Hugot, though he bore the loss of his kind master sadly enough. But it was not grief that killed Hugot. He was laid low by the same disease of which his master had died the yellow fever. A week had scarcely passed after the death of the latter, before Hugot caught the disease, and in a few days he was carried to the tomb and laid by the side of his "old Colonel."
As the old Colonel uttered these words, his countenance and gestures expressed disappointment and chagrin. Lucien, who had observed this with a feeling of pain, now interposed. "Hugot has seen two or three of these skins in Saint Louis. Some one must have found the animals to which these belonged.
But little more than a year after their return from their grand expedition to the Texan prairies, the "old Colonel" had died. It was one of the worst years of that scourge of the South the yellow fever and to this dread pestilence he had fallen a victim. Hugot, the ex-chasseur and attached domestic, who was accustomed to follow his master like a shadow, had also followed him into the next world.
But little more than a year after their return from their grand expedition to the Texan prairies, the "old Colonel" had died. It was one of the worst years of that scourge of the South the yellow fever and to this dread pestilence he had fallen a victim. Hugot, the ex-chasseur and attached domestic, who was accustomed to follow his master like a shadow, had also followed him into the next world.
"Bien, mon Colonel!" "You must start by the first boat." "Tres-bien, mon Colonel!" "You must procure for me the skin of a white buffalo." "That will not be difficult, monsieur." "More difficult than you imagine, I fear." "With money, monsieur?" "Ay, even with money, Hugot. Look you! It is a skin I want not a robe but a perfect skin with the head, feet, and all complete, and fit for stuffing."
"Quiet, Francois! quiet!" said his father, reprovingly; at the same time hobbling into the verandah, and calling for his spectacles. The letter was soon opened, and perused. "Hugot!" cried the Colonel, after he had finished reading it. Hugot made no reply, but threw himself in front of his master, with his hand raised to his eyebrows a la militaire. "Hugot, you must go to Saint Louis."
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