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Having read enough about the storms and ice of the Tatar Strait, I expected to meet whalers on the Baikal with hoarse voices, spitting tobacco juice while talking; in reality, however, I found people who were quite intelligent. The commander of the steamer, Mr. L., a native of the western region, has been sailing in the northern seas for more than 30 years and has crossed them through and through. In his lifetime, he has seen many wonders; he knows a lot and tells stories in an interesting way. Having circled for half his life around Kamchatka and the Kuril Islands, he, perhaps with more right than Othello, could speak of "the most barren deserts, terrible abysses, and inaccessible cliffs." I am indebted to him for much information that was useful to me for these notes. He has three assistants: Mr. B., a nephew of the famous astronomer B., and two Swedes—Ivan Martynych and Ivan Veniaminych, kind and welcoming people.
On July 8, before dinner, the Baikal weighed anchor. Traveling with us were about three hundred soldiers under the command of an officer and several prisoners. One prisoner was accompanied by a five-year-old girl, his daughter, who held onto his shackles as he climbed the gangplank. There was, among others, one female convict who drew attention to herself because her husband followed her voluntarily to the penal colony symbol: *. Besides me and the officer, there were several other cabin-class passengers of both sexes, and, among others, even a baroness. Let the reader not be surprised at such an abundance of intelligent people here in the wilderness. By
On Amur steamers and the Baikal*, prisoners are kept on the deck together with third-class passengers. Once, having gone out at dawn to walk on the bow, I saw how soldiers, women, children, two Chinese, and prisoners in shackles were sleeping soundly, huddled against each other; dew covered them and it was cool. A convoy soldier stood in the middle of this heap of bodies, holding his rifle with both hands, and he was also asleep.