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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.