Trebizond has a very mongrel population indeed, and it is a constant wonder to see so many different peoples packed into this one dirty town. There seems to be many Armenians, and as the reader no doubt recalls, this little port was freely mentioned in the press a few years ago as the scene of the ghastly massacres perpetrated on these dismal people. One always hesitates to criticize with a merely superficial knowledge, yet the Armenians impress one casually as being about the most unpleasant people imaginable. They have a genius for conspiracy and the making of fifty-seven varieties of trouble that is perhaps unique. The result is that every once in a while some Turk in a genial mood says, “Come on, fellows, let’s kill-up a few Armenians,” and the massacre is on. It does seem outrageous to do all these things, but one who sees the Armenians sometimes wonders if they don’t bring a lot of trouble on themselves by their own actions and characters. The good kind missionary whom I met did not think so, and very likely he knew what he was talking about, while my opinion is merely a shot in the dark on a subject viewed superficially. My friend the missionary took me around and introduced me to the governor, a somewhat besmirched gentleman in a dirty red uniform, who had eyes like a rat, which wandered over my person until I felt for my watch. He did not speak English nor I Turkish, so our conversation was not particularly entertaining. I don’t know what his opinion of me was, but my opinion of him was that he was about the worst looking specimen that I had ever seen. He had G-R-A-F-T written all over him in large letters. He rather queered his town with me, and I went back to the harbor just at dusk. The wind had changed and the tide was running out, so that we managed to get out through the breakwater with nothing worse than a pretty severe wetting. The barometer (as usual) was falling. So I decided to have one more square meal before we put to sea. So it was nine o’clock when the anchor came up and we turned our nose away from the lights of the town, far more hospitable in appearance, by night than by day, and headed into the darkness that lay without. CHAPTER XI _Christmas Morning on the Black Sea._