Arriving on Sakhalin, I dreamed of secluding myself with my books in some quiet corner and patiently awaiting the end of my exile. But fate decided otherwise.

In addition to sometimes involuntarily coming to learn about Sakhalin residents’ various activities, I chose to experience all possible ways of civilian life on Sakhalin, and to survey all the island's centers of Russian population.

During a visit to Rykovsk, the island's commandant, General K., told me he wanted to take a small ship on a voyage to the Sea of Japan, but have me be its captain.

“I’m still officially consigned as an exiled penal laborer to Sakhalin,” I reminded the general.

“That's nothing,” he stated. “It's up to me to assign you wherever you can be of service to the island.”

I had forgotten this conversation when suddenly, I was told to go to Aleksandrovsk to be a sailor aboard the new steamer Prince Shakhovskoi. It turned out the general, upon leaving for Russia, had instructed in one of his final orders that the steamer undertake no long voyage without me.

This new assignment instantly resurrected my former naval training. Once more, I would confront the eternally stormy sea and the intense struggle with wind and wave. A sailor's emotions are always changing. His soul is as lively as the element that makes him what he is. When, having survived a cruel storm and escaped dangerous rocks and shoals, you enter a peaceful harbor, you’re pleased to feel yourself not just a worker relaxing at the end of a difficult job, but a victor following the battle. A blissful state! However, this is forgotten soon after going to sea again. There, after you’ve staggered to the edge of the iron shell and anxiously spent several sleepless nights on the bridge, sometimes beneath rain and piercing winds, only there, among the stormy ramparts, do you acknowledge all the difficulty of responding to naval service and, in secret from your comrades, dream of the charms of a peaceful city life. But if, by the same token, you spend somewhat longer onshore, you once more begin to be tormented by the usual serenity, just as the stagnant, sluggish sea longingly yearns for a good burst of wind to refresh itself and froth into an expanse of stormy waves.