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Existence
was neither empty nor boring, closed to tedium in the midst of
very immediate concerns. Social pleasures didn't exist and were
not greatly missed. At the very most, in the evening, the captain
and the doctor while smoking their pipes found an old card game,
or some lost books in the trunk of one lately arrived on those
beaches, like a perfume of beautiful literature. I remember having
seen, at Red Island, in the cabin of the young doctor, between
two hunting rifles and a pharmacy flask, two or three volumes
among which could be found the poetry of Alfred de Musset.
(...)
A passing small boat brought news of other settlements. One could
tell which ship was in the vicinity, up to ten leagues in all
directions, and, why it was there. Above all they waited for the
passage of naval ships and the moment when the commander-in-chief
entered a captain's cabin was a great one. They did not fail in
such solemn circumstance to offer with great eagerness the best
they had. Poor fellows. They were not spoiled. If they possessed
a few bottles of Normandy cider they considered themselves like
Sardanapales.
To
sum up, and the best proof given that this existence highly regarded
another is the profound indifference of everyone toward the news
of Europe. Apart from letters from the shipowner which directly
affected the situation, they cared not at all for important current
events. They inquired about nothing and when something was heard
it was discussed with the same detachment as happenings in Japan.
What truly interested them at Red Island was the news from Cowhead
and Port au Port and visa-versa.
Even
embellished by Arthur de Gobineau, it is clear that life was anything
but rosy. If the captain and the doctor who had each a house,
had the time to smoke a pipe and play cards, it was not like that
for the fishermen and, worse yet, for the graviers.