In early August 188*, aboard a Volunteer Fleet steamer full of exiled penal laborers, I arrived off the coast of Sakhalin. This island had always seemed to me nothing other than a morose wasteland of exile. In my youthful imaginings were drawn rocky cliffs with layers of coal, a barren coastline, and a cold, boundless sea. How pleasantly surprising when, through a porthole in the prisoners’ section, I espied the outlines of the island's coastal mountains, densely overgrown with green forests! This initial impression of Sakhalin greenery inspired me with the optimistic hope that, after many years’ incarceration in prison, I would at last find here a world sunny and warm and an instant communing with nature. What is more, this view of Sakhalin's shores generated a happiness in not just me alone: many of the exiles, utterly fatigued by the hard journey in the steamer, anticipated its conclusion with eagerness.

“Penal labor's not as tough as here aboard the steamer,” said old vagabonds who had already lived under katorga.

The steamer was approaching Aleksandrovsk Post, Sakhalin's major city, early in the morning. Since the sleepy prisoners had been given just a light breakfast, they couldn't rouse themselves into order when the transports began conveying them to the wharf.

I and the other prisoners were called to the steamer's deck. The sky was blue, and the August sun was pouring a clear light down upon the steamer's multi-headed crowd, the expansive sea, and the island's beautiful mountains. However, there was no time to contemplate. During involuntary transfers, you’re usually occupied as follows: step there, stand there, put your things there, and so on. In this penal commotion, you’re afraid of receiving an undeserved kick or a rude word from some soldier, so you focus all your attention on avoiding a quite possible conflict.

The wooden barges were already alongside the steamer, and we were immediately ordered to climb into them. Each of us carried with him a gray sack with his government things. It was difficult for me, weakened by my casemate existence, to descend the ladder with my unwieldy sack.