We passed the night in Garrison with Captain and Mrs. Phillimore, and set off in the cart next morning for Green Mountain, following a road which winds round Cross Hill at the same elevation above Garrison as the Captain's Cottage.

We were even now not much nearer our destination than when we left Mars Bay, but there is no choice of routes to perplex the tourist in Ascension, and we took perforce this dreaiy way—round the side of Cross Hill, then four miles across a barren plain, diversified by the familiar piles of clinker. Black, brown, and reddish brick-dust-coloured cinder was gathered into heaps around us, and ground into dust along our path.

Here and there the road would run for a short distance parallel to the iron pipe which conveys the water from Green Mountain to Garrison, and on passing a small square block of mason-work about half-way, we read thereon in neatly painted letters, “Lady Hill Tank.” Tanks are placed at intervals along the whole line of pipe to hold the reserve water, and, if possible, to gather any that may be collected in their neighbourhood. The next one we passed had the additional attractions of a pump and a trough, and bore the inscription, “God be Thanked Tank.” The next was called “Travellers' Tank,” and so on. Altogether I think we passed six of these tanks before reaching the bottom of the “Ramps.”