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I will try to put all I want to know in thirty words, and you must try and keep strictly to the pattern. The gad-flies bite. GORBITSA, June 20, 1890. Greetings, dear Nikolay Alexandrovitch! I wrote you this as I approached Gorbitsa, one of the Cossack settlements on the banks of the Shilka, a tributary of the Amur. This is where I have got to. I am sailing down the Amur.
The little town is nothing to boast of, but one could live there. And how are you, messieurs and mesdames? I know positively nothing about you. You might subscribe twopence each and send me a full telegram. The steamer will stay the night at Gorbitsa. The nights here are foggy, sailing is dangerous, I shall send off this letter at Gorbitsa.
Now I am sitting in a first-class cabin, and feel as though I were in Europe. I feel in the mood one is in after passing an examination. A whistle! that's Gorbitsa. The banks of the Shilka are picturesque like stage scenes but, alas! there is something oppressive in this complete absence of human beings. It is like a cage without a bird. June 21, 1890.
The other lieutenant, M., a geographer, is a quiet, modest, thoroughly well-educated fellow. If it were not for N., I could travel with the other for a million versts without being bored. But with N., who intrudes into every conversation, the other bores me too.... I believe we are reaching Gorbitsa. To-morrow I will make up the form of a telegram which you must send me to Sahalin.
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