“Do you mean to say,” I retorted with some heat, “that he insists on a visé from a port that is in a state of siege with people being killed in the streets? These men don’t live in Batuum anyway and most of them have come from towns in the interior and barely escaped with their lives. Besides some of them actually live here in Trebizond!” My reply was translated but my expression did not need an interpreter. The governor distinctly had the upper hand and sneeringly replied that the situation in Batuum was not due to him and that he did not care a rap whether the town was in a state of siege or not. “No visé no landing” was his ultimatum. I asked him what he expected me to do with them, to which he shrugged his shoulders scornfully and prepared to leave. I was too angry to engage in further discussion and as I watched him go over the side an inspiration broke upon me. So I merely remarked politely that I would think the matter over and would advise him later as to my decision. This obviously did not please him as he apparently did not see where I had any particular decision coming my way. So he only growled a surly reply as he rowed away. As soon as he was gone I called a council of war in my saloon and proposed my plan. I figured on sailing from Trebizond to the mouth of the Danube and thence back to Russia, and it was obvious that there would be no welcome to my passengers in either of these places. My idea was that we would say no more about it but make all of our preparations to depart and just before we weighed anchor put all our refugees in our two ship’s boats with their equipment of oars and just simply leave them in the harbor. If the governor wanted to keep them adrift there with no food—well, then that would be his affair and not mine. He could drown them if he thought best, once they were off my hands. No one but Morris sympathized with my project, but I was running the enterprise, and issued the ultimatum and went ashore to send a cable before leaving.