Among my roommates, the most likeable was the young Lithuanian P— — i, a university student. He was more soft-hearted, sentimental, and better educated than our Little Russian comrades, also university students. We’d all joined together as roommates, and were simply waiting to be allowed to divide up among separate apartments. It had been difficult in solitary confinement but was probably no less difficult in such crowded cohabitation as we experienced in our small room, where our beds touched one another and there was no table for letter writing. I came to hear many times stories of prisoners in the general ward who asked the warden to put them in the hole for a night. Some sought within it a single night of solitude for prayer, others for relaxing their nerves from the terribly wearisome noise, cursing, and the incessant passing of bodies before one's eyes. Some wardens understood such a desire by the incarcerated and granted their requests, but more often, they greeted it with a harshly expressed refusal.

“Impossible! The hole is for punishing infractions,” these strict legalists said.

Simple folk can get along together somewhat easier: they have habits, understandings, and tastes in common. But fractious arguments soon disrupt relations among educated people because of their various views on things. I always tried to balance off my young students’ contrasting opinions. Alongside national differentiation (the Little Russians suffered from yokel-mania, whereas P— — i was a passionate polonophile), we were distinguished by religious persuasion. At first, this led to long arguments and mutual displeasure, but later, having become convinced each would cleave stubbornly to his opinion, we tried in conversation to avoid dangerous areas that led to storms. However, in fairness, it has to be said we were all so tactful and well intentioned that our disputes never led to a complete break in relations.

Aside from my roommates and my comrades during the journey from Petersburg to Sakhalin, I also made friends among penal laborers from the simple folk. One of the earliest was the latrine watchman Grandpa Pëtr Antonych, as everyone honored him. Every time I happened to be in the privacy of his little domicile, I noticed the gray-haired old man on a bench near the stove.