Soon everybody I know gone from the barracks, but I just keep moving forward, shuffling in irons, one step, one clock strike, one clang of the hammer against the rock, one slap of the mortar against the stone. Clinging to the memory of that night by the river, when I looked up at the stars in wonder and discovered that inside I was a free man. And I hold that sweet memory of what freedom tasted like. Hold it strong in me heart as the years of me sentence pass by, so no matter what happen or how hard backra work me, is a place that no man can touch.

Kind Master

Was a windy, cool evening in June when I first arrived at the homestead, a stone cottage with a bark hut for storing things and a dog barking from the little front porch. Arrived to lights shining out the windows, like a beacon that I saw from when we was far away, a beacon shining out to us from among the lonely trees.

It took us a couple of days to get there, me sitting in the back of the cart bumping along, watching the bushes as them drifted by. Letting me mind drift like them bushes. Holding onto nothing, just sitting, waiting for me fate to unfold. Knowing I going find out soon enough if is going be a kind or cruel one. Backra stamped the papers, gave me a Ticket of Leave. Sent me off. And with every mile I prayed that me finally leaving that soulless, barren place, Hyde Park Barracks. For good.

Just before I left the barracks, I got a letter from James Smith. Him finally got him Ticket of Leave and was back up in Brisbane Waters, working for a tavern owner. Put him reading and writing skills to take stock, write up supplies. Sometimes him worked behind the bar, serving drinks. Other times, made the meals when the cook was too drunk. Asked me to send word as to where I end up and one day he going try to come for a visit. I kept that letter for a long time, folded up safe until it turned all ratty.