It is difficult to conceive the state of isolation in which we lived, and as we were all Europeanly speaking single handed, and could seldom leave home, we often had not for weeks together an opportunity of seeing a single white face, and so rare indeed was a visit from a neighbour that, when one was coming to see me, I used to sit on a hill watching for the first glimpse of him, like a shipwrecked mariner on a desert island watching for the glimpse of a sail on the horizon.

As for the Indian mutinies, which broke out the year after I had started work, they might have been going on in Norway as far as we were concerned; none of us at all appreciated the importance and gravity of the events that were occurring, and one of my neighbours said that it was not worth while trying to understand the situation, and that we had better wait for the book that would be sure to come out when things had settled down.

And the native population around us appeared to know as little of the mutinies as we did.

They seemed to be aware that some disturbance was going on somewhere in the north, and that represented the whole extent of their knowledge of the subject.
I have described our life as having been one of great isolation so far as European society was concerned, but I never felt it to be a dull one, nor did my neighbours ever complain of it, though we only took a holiday of a few weeks in the year.

But we had plenty of work, and big game shooting, and the occupation was an interesting one, and as I even now return with pleasure every winter to my planter's life, this proves that my earlier days must have left behind them many pleasant associations.