Town beats him, Svensen here make a tattoo o' the Sturmvogel on your starboard titty.' He held out his hand to the jack tar and the man he'd called Svensen placed a small piece of paper in it. Captain Jorgen Jorgensen took three steps towards Sperm Whale Sally and handed her the paper. 'A picture o' the ship, most excellently drawn, Svensen will make a good artwork of it.'
Sperm Whale Sally looked at the picture of the Danish whaling ship and thought the pretty drawing would look most handsome on her breast. But she did not indicate this to the captain. Instead she slowly undid her bodice and peeled back the material covering the vast expanse of her left breast, stopping just short of the rosy sphere around her nipple. Resting high upon it was a crude tattoo of the head of an Indian chief and the single word, 'Tomahawk'.
Those in the crowd standing close enough to see the tattoo gasped. The rumour that she favoured the huge Indian was confirmed. Sperm Whale Sally seemed somewhat surprised herself at the presence of the tattoo, as if she had quite forgotten it existed.
And indeed she confirmed this, 'Blimey! I quite forgot it be there!' She covered the tattoo with her bodice and slowly did up the buttons. 'That be there since I were a young 'un, long before I come to Van Diemen's Land!' she said to Captain Jorgensen. 'That be there,' she began and then stopped suddenly, and looked up at Jorgen Jorgensen and added, 'I don't rightly remember…' her voice trailing off.
In fact she remembered it well. She'd been just fifteen years old, a young actress in a Drury Lane play named 'Trooper of the King', a story about the war against the American colonists. Cast as an Indian maiden, with no more than a walk-on part, she had become completely smitten with an actor playing the part of an Indian guide named Tomahawk. He had wined and dined her in the West End the night after the final performance. They caroused until the early hours and she had been too drunk to remember how or where she had been with him. All she recalled was waking up on a straw mattress in a cheap lodging house shortly before midday the following day to discover her erstwhile lover had departed and left his mark on her young breast in the form of a dark blue and very new tattoo.
'It 'as been there near all me life, capt'n! It ain't got nothin' to do with Mr Tomahawk the whaleman!' Sperm Whale Sally protested.
Jorgen Jorgensen shook his head, plainly not believing her. 'You been smoked, Sperm Whale Sally, we know it be there for the Merryweather and the injun savage.' He pointed at Sally's left breast. 'Portside be the Merryweather titty, now the starboard for Black Boss Cape Town and the Sturmvogel!'
'Three cheers for Black Boss Cape Town!' Pegleg shouted and the tavern resounded with three cheers for the giant black man who now stood with his arms folded, the front of his canvas shirt spread open to expose his immense barrel chest shiny with sweat.
'Oi! Remember me?' Sperm Whale Sally suddenly shouted. 'Ain't nobody gunna tattoo nothin' on me tits, you hear!'
There was a hushed silence and then someone shouted, 'Here they comes! The Jonathans are coming!'
All eyes turned to the doorway of the public house, though most could only see the crown of a top hat, because Captain Alexis 'Blackmouth' Perriman, who led the Americans, stood no more than five feet and three inches. Unlike Jorgen Jorgensen, who wore the clothes of a sailor coming ashore, a rough woollen suit of little style and most shabbily turned out, the captain of the Merryweather was dressed in a well-pressed top coat, clean linen, breeches, hose and well-shone buckled shoes. He was also clean shaven, but for a small tuft of dark beard stiffened with whale grease which grew at the point of his chin and was joined by a thin moustache which circled from either side of his top lip to meet the tuft. Within this hirsute oval stretched a small, thinly drawn mouth, downturned, so that it gave the impression of a vinegary disposition. He carried an ebony cane two-thirds as tall as himself with a whale bone carving of a sperm whale at its head, its eyes sparkling with what was claimed to be two blood red rubies.
Despite his appearance, he was a skipper who drove his men hard, was not himself backward in derring-do, and had a record as a whaling captain which was second to none. Following him were the crew of the Merryweather, mostly Jonathans, though there were several of the Irish among them. The last to enter the tavern was Tomahawk, the giant Red Indian. His hair was parted at the centre and had been braided in a single plait which fell five inches beyond his shoulders. He was as tall and as big around the shoulders as Black Boss Cape Town but did not possess a similar girth. Instead he tapered down to a slim waist, so that he gave the appearance of being the younger, stronger man.
Black Boss Cape Town carried three black stripes of a tribal cicatrisation down either cheek, and fitted into the stretched lobes of his ears were round discs the size of a silver dollar made of whale bone. In the centre of each was an inset of the outline of the sperm whale with its tail held high, carved of black horn.
Tomahawk wore no ornamentation save for his facial skin, which was completely tattooed with swirls and dots. Of the two savages he had the more fearsome appearance. Moreover, he did not smile as he walked over to the table to stand beside the master of the Merryweather. Tomahawk, dressed as a jack tar, folded his arms about his chest and looked directly ahead, as though he were there for the purposes of his own sweet repose, quite alone with his eyes inwardly cast.
Captain Perriman bowed his head slightly to Sperm Whale Sally and, turning, did the same to Captain Jorgen Jorgensen. 'Greetings captain,' he drawled.
Sperm Whale Sally smiled. 'Pleased to meetcha, capt'n!'
Jorgen Jorgensen went to extend his hand towards the American, but thought better of it and withdrew, then he nodded his head and grunted. 'Capt'n.'
Captain Perriman smiled thinly. 'Well, it be a fight then?' It was not so much a question as a statement. 'There should be rules,' he announced.
'Rules?' Jorgen Jorgensen looked puzzled. 'Whalemen do not fight to rules!'
'Aye, well, both are valuable men, captain. I feel sure you would not want your man killed nor even maimed, he be a harpooner be he not?'
Jorgensen pondered for a moment, and Sperm Whale Sally pushed herself up from her chair and pointed at the two captains. 'You listen to me, you pair o' right bastards!'
They both looked at her in surprise, as though they had quite forgotten she existed. 'What be it, woman?' Captain Perriman asked in an offhand and irritated voice.
'I already told you there ain't gunna be no fight and no one's gunna put a pitcher o' his ship on me tits!'
'But it is quite decided, Mistress Sally!' Jorgen Jorgensen replied, bemused by her sudden recalcitrance.
'Oh I see,' Captain Perriman said, smiling knowingly. He winked at the Danish captain and took his purse from his jacket and from it took a ten dollar American bill. Then he walked over to Sperm Whale Sally and threw it on the table in front of her.
Sperm Whale Sally looked at the bill. She might possibly have agreed to the tattoo for such a price but she wasn't going to be patronised by the supercilious Jonathan. Her voice was angry and aggressive. 'Now 'ang on a mo, capt'n! It ain't just the flamin' tattoo! It's me boys!' She pointed to Black Boss Cape Town and then to Tomahawk. 'They both o' them true blues, they both done what's needed, there ain't nothin' more they needs to do.' In a sudden impatient gesture she pushed the ten dollar bill away. 'You can stick yer Yankee money up yer tiny Jonathan arse!'
'My God, I do not believe my ears, a whore who turns down money?' Captain Perriman said, one eyebrow slightly arched.
'Well you 'eard of one now, Capt'n Blackmouth!'
Captain Jorgensen suddenly threw back his head and laughed. Then he took his purse from his jacket and added five English pounds to the American money. 'Be reasonable, Sally. You says you loves them both, but only one o' them be an owner of your titty!' He paused and spread his hands. 'Now that ain't fair!'
'Nobody owns me titty less they pays for it, and then it be only temporary!' Sperm Whale Sally said, eyeing the money on the table.
Jorgen Jorgensen pointed at his American counterpart. 'The Merryweather has got a titty permanent and the Sturmvogel ain't! If, as you says, they earned a True Blue the same, then we be entitled to one titty each. Now that be a fair proposition!'
'No!' Sperm Whale Sally shouted. 'And don't call me Sally, that be the privilege o' me friends!'
'Then will you cross it out?' Jorgen Jorgensen snapped back. He made an X in the air with his fingers. 'Svensen can put an X through that name, then the matter be finished and all's fair and square.'
