At 12.0 noon the day cleared, and so I set off with Frank Glass, one of Bob Glass’s sons, to climb the mountain face. My companion, aged seventeen years, was a bright, cheery youth with a firm belief that there could be no place in the world like Tristan da Cunha nor such an all-round lot of fine fellows as the “Tristanites.” He expressed, however, a willingness to leave the island and see something of that other place, “the world,” but would seize an early chance to come back again.
We crossed the settlement and the land lying behind it, passing at the foot of the mountain the springs from which the water supply is derived. In this respect the people are well off, for the water is good and beautifully soft. The original garrison, in order to divert the water past the houses, had built a canal, which in some places passed through little tunnels in the hillocks, and was quite a small feat of engineering. The volume is considerable, and the water running to the cliff edge falls to the beach in a good-sized cascade, which makes a useful mark for ships looking for the landing-place.
The ascent of the mountain lay first up a steep, grassy, boulder-strewn slope, from the top of which we made a traverse across the face of the mountain to a ridge where the climbing was steep, but where there was good hand- and foot-hold. We zigzagged up this for several hundred feet. There was abundant vegetation, numbers of ferns, including a species of tree fern, tussock and other forms of grass, mosses, lichens and the “island tree” (phylica nitida), a gnarled and stunted tree which is found all over the island and which offers firm holding for climbers. There were also on the lower slopes a number of field daisies, or marguerites, and a species of wild geranium bearing a small flower with a pleasant aromatic smell. To another plant my guide gave the name of “dog-catcher,” because during the summer it grows a sort of “burr” which catches in the hair of the dogs and is very hard to remove.
Our route followed a faint but definite track which is used constantly by the islanders in their search for wood to burn, and in the season for the eggs of mollymauks and other seabirds which nest there. Even the women make this ascent.
We crossed several bold rocky bluffs and gullies. Nowhere was there any danger, provided reasonable care were used, but in one or two places one crept along dizzily poised ridges where a false or careless step would have been sufficient to precipitate one to a drop of two or three thousand feet.
Near the top we were enveloped by dense mist accompanied by squalls of rain. Everything was obscured, and so we returned to the scrub, where we built a shelter from branches of the “island tree,” under which I sat and talked with Frank Glass. For one with such a limited outlook, this young man had very advanced ideas on life in general. He told me quite cheerfully that the island was faced with starvation and ruin. He also remarked that it would not do to go on marrying each other, and that they needed new blood. I recognized many of his expressions, however, as those of his father, Bob Glass.
Our shelter after a while ceased to be effective, and the water started pouring through in little rivulets. There were no signs of the weather clearing, so we descended some distance and made a traverse to a high projecting rock known as “The Pinnacle.” This is a high, straight mass crowned with a little vegetation. It is inaccessible except by a tunnel running up the middle and emerging at the top, up which we scrambled with free use of elbows and knees. Here we were out of the mist, and had a fine bird’s-eye view of the flat part of the island and the settlement. The sea, edged with a long irregular line of white where the surf was breaking on the shore, stretched like a flat board to a dim, far-distant horizon.
We were now in bright sunshine, and I felt quite content to lie, chin in hand, gazing at the tiny objects far below; but whilst I was enjoying the view the mist came down the hill and again enveloped us. We therefore descended to the settlement, where we arrived soaked to the skin.
I noticed a large crowd collected about one of the houses, and so, having put on dry clothes, I approached to see what was happening. I found that the islanders were engaged in dividing up the goods we had sent ashore into approximately equal lots.
They have a system of their own for dealing with common stores. When the boats go out to a ship barter is first of all carried out in the name of the community for such stores as tea, sugar, flour, etc. Each family in turn provides whatever goods are necessary for these exchanges in the way of cattle, sheep, geese or potatoes. When this has been done, the individuals who have manned the boat may barter with their own goods for any particular article which they or their families may require. This includes articles of clothing, general household utensils, knives, wood, nails, etc. In exchange they can give of their own live stock or polished horns, mats made from penguin skins, socks knitted by the women, shells and other curios. The goods brought ashore in the name of the community are divided equally amongst the families irrespective of the size of the family, so that a man with eight or nine children draws no more than a man who has none.