‘And where is the heat? The onions, the peppers you cut up. Add dem to make the food taste hot. Taste spicy. Taste sweet!’

I look round to see who talking, surprised to see Holt. Richard Holt. A tall man, with a hollow face. Find out him a slave from Jamaica, charged with murder during the rebellion, but no one seem to know who him kill or why him do it, because him never talk bout it. Keep himself to himself. Work in silence, don’t make friends, even though him journey with McBean on the same ship. All us convicts, black, white, give him a wide berth. One look at the scar that run down the side of him dark face is enough. The bright purple scar that run round him wrists where the handcuffs did bite into flesh, having stayed locked too long, signal him is trouble. A fighter. A man not to be messed with.

I try to pull him back into the game, but him don’t say another word. Just stand there, back against the stone wall, looking at us like we is children and we don’t know nothing.

Is James Smith who step forward to try lighten the mood.

During that long ocean voyage, we become fast friends. James too good, too trusting, need someone to look out for him. Which me happy to do. Happy for him to become like a brother. Nothing going replace me James, I can still see him smiling with him gentle ways. But in this faraway place, is a big comfort to know someone is there to watch you back. Specially at night when fights break out, a lesser evil compared to all kinds of going-on behind the locked and bolted doors of Hyde Park Barracks.

‘Me don’t know bout this food business,’ James say. ‘But me wish me had some rum. Plenty rum. Strong rum, before backra weaken it with water.’

All the convicts that been listening agree, start to shout out, ‘Rum! Give us rum!’

And they pick up any little stick laying round, start to beat the edge of the fire drums. Beating in time to the words they shout out.

Rum is the power,

Rum is the key,

Rum is the thing that will set us free!

Rum is the power,

Rum is the key,

Rum is the thing that will set us free!

Over and over again until the guards come round start to break us up, knock our heads together, send us off to the hammocks.

Mapping the Bore

Early one morning, when the guards unbolt the doors, James not get up as quick as him usually do. Lay there in him hammock, covered in sweat, him body all shivering.