I look back from the water, the whole town spread out below us, wrapping itself round the harbour in the shape of a horseshoe. Roads like spokes in a wheel that lead out into small plots of land. Is a big town, much bigger than the little towns close to the plantation. And as the sun slip below the water, one by one, lights come to life in the houses, on the roads, and it seem like we looking at a field of flickering, gleaming, peenie wallies.

After Mister Buchanan have him fill, him urge us on and we start to descend on the coast road. The sound of waves lapping against the stone wall making it difficult to stay awake.

Finally we reach the edge of town and the parting of the ways. Mister Buchanan give me a few coins to thank me for my efforts. Tell me to stay the night and to set off for Rock Pleasant the next day. Give me a permission slip to prove it.

What joy! I done a good job. Have coins in me pocket and, for a night, I am free to roam as I please.

After Mister Buchanan leave, I house the mule at a stable, then spend a good bit of time just walking round in wonderment. Up and down the streets that have lamps burning on every corner. Is strange to find meself in all this night-time brightness. Once the sun set on the plantation, darkness overtake it. The only light you have is the burning torch you carry.

First thing I notice, the houses seem so small, close, one beside the other with many floors going up. Stone down the bottom, for the first floor. Wood for the second where there is a little balcony with flowers in pots hanging off the side. It make everything look pretty like the houses all dressed up. The streets not only full up with houses, but taverns and shops of every kind. And even though is night-time, all the people them coming and going in this night-time brightness. Then I come to understand things move quick in a town, not one thing at a time, like on the plantation.

As to the town people, they have on fancy clothes, much better than even Massa, and they walk down the street like they own the place. And many of the faces I look pon, them is black or them is brown. They look like me, have eyes and nose the same as me, but on them face, I see something different. Maybe they don’t have no shadow gnawing at them guts. They must be the free coloureds and blacks Melon told me bout, slaves that been given freedom by them massa. Then after, any pickney them have is born free, no longer chattel. Some of them even have servants walking behind to carry them packages. I stop and stare, seeing not the faces of colour, but the faces of freedom.