On our return to Breaksea, Jimmy the Needle ripped down the osprey’s nest and the skeleton tree it straddled on the highest point of the island, for firewood.
There was a measuring cup and rum, as trade for Magennis and Bailey’s women.
There were the fresh carcasses of four breeding possums that Twertayan had gifted us alive a week ago.
There was spoilt Madeira from a lost cargo.
The sealers were ready for a spree.