‘Richardson’s the name,’ the man say after I offer him a pony. I sit facing the door, keeping watch on who coming and going. ‘So where d’you laddies hail from? Don’t see many of the likes of you in these desolate parts.’

James and me look at each other, we already prepare our story.

‘Whalers,’ James say, with a serious face.

‘You must have many tales to tell then,’ Richardson say.

‘Aye,’ I say. ‘But we have enough of the seafaring life. What bout you?’ I ask, knowing our tall tale going run out if him ask too many questions.

‘Ticket of Leave man,’ Richardson say. ‘Been in the colony just under five years.’

‘What you get done for?’

‘Machine-breaking,’ him say, before him put down him pony and start to sing.

The law locks up the man or woman

Who steals the goose from the common

But leaves the greater villain loose

Who steals the common from the goose

He takes a long drink of ale. ‘Hunger can drive a man to do many things.’ A deep sadness come over him face.

By the time we drain the ponies, Richardson believe us to be good friends, especially after we buy him a second one. Next thing you know, we outside and Richardson leading us away from the tavern and the small group of shacks clinging to the harbour. We follow him up a narrow flight of stone steps, along the path up the hill, till we standing outside a stone house with a small vegetable patch off to the side of it. Is the dwelling place belonging to his master.

‘Mister Chadwick,’ him tell us. ‘The harbourmaster.’

‘You sure now, Richardson?’ James ask our companion in a steady voice.

‘Yes, indeed,’ him say with unsteady voice. The drink already settling into him head. ‘Mister Chadwick is a good master. Been assigned to him for over a year now. Signed for my Ticket of Leave he did. Allows me to come and go as I please. As long as I do the work he asks of me.’

The house is set back from the path, a little way off from the rest. No sign of life except for a light flickering inside. I give James the all clear.

‘Lead on, Richardson,’ James say, and help him through the gate, up the side path to the back door. Richardson pull out him key and, after a few tries, the door opens to find a stout, elderly gentleman, looking at Richardson over a pair of spectacles on him nose.

‘Evening, Mister Chadwick.’

‘Evening, Richardson. And what have we here?’ him say, looking over Richardson shoulder at us.

‘Two men new to the colony, in need of shelter for the night,’ Richardson say as him stand aside, allow the light from the kitchen to fall on our faces.

‘For one night, you say?’