Such memories were our travelling companions as we coasted along the wooded shores towards the latter end of the spring. They came rushing in upon us one evening when our ship stopped at a tiny port built at the bottom of a valley sloping down to the water. Intercourse with the outer world is limited to such passing visits of steamers; the inhabitants of the Black Sea villages grow nearly all the necessaries of life in their fertile valleys, and content themselves with a small exchange of wood and dried fruits for cloth and sugar and a few of the luxuries of civilization, amongst which, oddly enough, tombstones are an important item. As we watched the wide Turkish boats, rising high out of the water at stem and stern, which came dancing out towards us over the swell of the waves and poised round us like great sea-birds while the tombstones and the bundles of goods were dropped into them, we fell to wondering, while the evening light faded from land and sea, what the meagre history of Ineboli could be--so remote it seemed, so forgotten--and it presently occurred to us to consult the learned Strabo. There in his book it was duly mentioned: ‘Abonteichos, a small city,’ ‘the modern Ineboli,’ added a commentator, and we gazed with different eyes at the small city which was backed by such a long line of experiences. Next day we reached Samsoun, Strabo’s ‘Amisus, which Mithridates adorned with temples.’ A number of Turks, who were passengers on our ship, disembarked there, for what reason Heaven only knows--Mithridates’ pomp has been long since forgotten, and one would think that a man must be hard pressed for occupation before he would seek it in Samsoun. The town lies on sloping ground, rising gently upwards; on the hill behind it we could see the broad road which leads to Diabekir and the people walking in it; the sound of Armenian church bells came to us across the water, and from hour to hour a clock tolled out Turkish time, though no one seemed to heed it. Some Armenian women came on board to examine the ship, and ran up and down the companion ladders, looking at everything with curious eyes and much loud laughter. They were dressed in very bright colours and unveiled, which struck us as indecent in a woman. Very early on the following morning we woke to find ourselves outside Kerasounde, the Greek Pharnacia--‘a small fortified city,’ says Strabo. It was a charming little place, just waking under the misty morning sunshine. Its irregular streets dropped down to the water’s edge, and even beyond, for some of the wide-roofed houses were planted out on stakes in the shallow bay. The mountain-side against which it nestled was white with blossoming fruit-trees, and behind it the higher peaks were still white with snow. As for the fortifications, they seem to have disappeared, and, indeed, what foe would turn his arms against Kerasounde?