A convoy of exiled penal laborers bound for Tymovsk District was to be formed on Sunday morning, 9 August. Short-termers, convicts soon to complete their terms, were normally assigned there, so the Tym River valley could be more readily settled. Because I’d sailed on the Volunteer Fleet steamer's first run, which carried long-termers, I knew absolutely no one in the party to which I was being assigned. Everyone hastened to load themselves with provisions for four days and to purchase locally made tin teapots or kettles. For our things, my comrades and I were assigned a cart harnessed to oxen, Little-Russian-style.

We got underway at midday. My comrades and I walked in the rear of a gray crowd of 200 men. A platoon of soldiers from the local command was assigned to the convoy. The road was a flat highway. The day warm and sunny. The mood was generally good: for one thing, we were leaving the terrible warden L— — , for another, the comparatively peaceful life of the Tymovsk District agricultural colony promised relaxation after all the ordeals we’d suffered.

The road went in a straight line south, to the settlement of Novo-Mikhailovsk, better known as Plowland to longtime residents. Walking unencumbered by our baggage, my comrades and I had an enormous advantage over the other exiles. An official soon climbed off his horse and began talking to us. He was a very garrulous man, but I limited myself to just a few questions about life on Sakhalin, leaving the conversation to my comrades. Toward evening, we reached Plowland. A river flowed along the edge of the settlement. It had a character typical of Sakhalin rivers: here it contracted between narrow, thickly overgrown banks to form a fast current, there it seethed in noisily foaming rapids, and then, in the lower spots, it widened to cover its enormous banks of clean pebbles.

We spent the night in a large field by this same river. Campfires were lit. To economize on fuel, we put ten or more kettles and teapots to boil on each, propping them up with constructions of bricks and stones. I liked such community hearths. Penal laborers with pipes between their teeth squatted in circles.