drenched with blood as well as sweat. Beads of perspiration shone in the crinkly hair of Black Boss Cape Town, and the smooth dark hair of his opponent lay soaked against his coppery skin. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, Tomahawk worked his opponent's arm, forcing it towards the surface of the table. Black Boss Cape Town's hand was no more than an inch from the table when he spat into Tomahawk's face.
The shock was so great that the giant Red Indian lost control, and Black Boss forced his hand back to the upright position, and then over to the other side so that Tomahawk's hand was now only an inch from the table on the African's side.
Suddenly there rose in Tomahawk's throat a cry that seemed to come from deep within his belly as the black man's bloody spittle ran down his face. His eyes burned in his head as his hand rose and rose, pushing the negro's fist to the upright position and then slowly down, until, with a second great wail, he smashed the top of Black Boss Cape Town's hand onto the table. It was all over. Tomahawk had won the contest, though both men were too exhausted to lift their heads, and their arms lay limp and useless on the table.
Sperm Whale Sally moved across to where Tomahawk sat and gently raised his head. With a wet sea sponge she wiped his face clean. Then she did the same for Black Boss Cape Town, wiping the blood from his cheek. 'You both true blue, both my good lads!'
Ikey had somehow climbed back onto the table, and now he began to wave his hands and shout until the pandemonium ceased. 'I can't make no payment on the bets until the contest be complete!' Finally the crowd noise calmed down sufficiently for him to be heard. 'Tomahawk be the declared winner o' the first contest, now he must arm wrestle against Sperm Whale Sally!' He turned to the master of the Sturmvogel. 'Please captain, move your man!' Ikey pointed at the black man.
'Ikey! Whatever are you doing? These boys be exhausted,' Sperm Whale Sally shouted up at him.
'Yes, yes indeed, my dear, we must hurry, sit, sit, there is no time to waste!'
Sally suddenly realised what Ikey was up to, and as quickly as possible for someone her size, adjusted her massive bottom upon the vacated stool opposite Tomahawk.
'Will you get your hand up now, lad!' Michael O'Flaherty said to the exhausted and bewildered Red Indian.
Tomahawk raised his hand and Sperm Whale Sally grabbed it and held it steady while both their elbows were pressed down on the table.
'Lady and gentleman, take your positions, please! May the best, er… contestant win.' O'Flaherty again held up the red bandanna. 'Take the strain. Go!'
Tomahawk had regained a surprising amount of strength in the few minutes he'd been allowed to rest and tried to force his opponent's hand down in one great effort. This was a big mistake. Sperm Whale Sally's hand dipped and then lowered almost to the surface of the table, but there it held, draining the Red Indian of all his remaining strength, then she forced it back to the upright position and started to push downwards. As publican of the Pig 'n Spit she had been required to stack and lift beer barrels on the full, and her fat was deceptive. She was very strong. What new strength Tomahawk had recovered was entirely spent on his first onslaught and not five minutes later Sperm Whale Sally slammed the back of the exhausted harpooner's hand onto the table.
It was a fitting ending. For generations whalers would tell the story of how the two greatest harpooners in the world had fought for the right to challenge the spirit of the great sperm whale. How after a great fight lasting several hours, between two of the strongest men in the world, the American Red Indian had won over the African giant. Then he pitted himself against the spirit of the great whale and was crushed in less than ten minutes. But the spirit of the great sperm whale would never desert them, nor any of the ships that flew the Blue Sally. But the greatest of the catch seemed always to go to the Merryweather and the Sturmvogel. Or so the legend goes.
It was all over. Ikey and Sperm Whale Sally had made a killing. Not only did they possess the money from both the Merryweather and the Sturmvogel, but they cleared nearly twenty pounds on the bets placed by the drinkers. Ikey could not remember when he had enjoyed himself as much, though he was a trifle disappointed when Sperm Whale Sally insisted that they buy drinks for the crews of both ships. Then to much shouting, joshing and general banter, Sperm Whale Sally bared her left titty and allowed Svensen, the tattoo artist from the Sturmvogel, to tattoo an X, cancelling the name Tomahawk.
'It be better this way, my lovies,' Sperm Whale Sally announced to the crew members who stood around her. 'Now you both be equal true blue! Both be equally blessed by the great good luck o' the spirit o' the sperm whale!' She paused, for she could see that the men from the Merryweather did not look altogether happy with this pronouncement and seemed reluctant to accept her blessing. 'One more thing be essential if we is to repair what happened tonight,' she announced solemnly. 'If you wishes to keep the luck o' the great sperm, you must do the spirit a final bidding.' She looked at Black Boss Cape Town and then at Tomahawk. 'You two must shake hands. Make peace the pair of you! You has broken your luck with your hatred and there is only one way to regain it. You must be friends.' She grinned and waited a moment and then said, 'As friends, together you must beach the whale tonight!'
There was a sudden howl of approval from both crews as the tension between them dissolved and they began to shake hands and drink to the health and happy hunting of both ships. Black Boss Cape Town extended his hand to Tomahawk, who took it and smiled, 'Good man!' he said. Black Boss Cape Town threw back his head and laughed. 'We fight!' he boomed happily, toasting the giant Red Indian.
Sperm Whale Sally took both giants by the hand and led them out of the Whale Fishery and into the dark towards the small beach that lay not fifty yards away.
The moon had climbed to its zenith, a bright silver coin suspended high above the great mountain. A million stars pricked a sky now closer to morning than to midnight. As Sperm Whale Sally sat upon the soft sand, a gentle wave washed into shore and she waited for the sound of it to retreat before she pointed to the giant African.
'Black Boss Cape Town, you be first and don't squeeze me left titty, it be most tender!' She laughed and then turned her head towards the Red Indian. 'You follow quick, Tomahawk. It must be done quick, the one after t'other, so the spirit o' the great sperm whale will reach you both in equal portion, and bring you the same great good luck in the next whalin' season!'
Sperm Whale Sally sighed and lifted her skirts above her gargantuan thighs. 'Jesus, I be starvin' hungry,' she thought as she fell on her back into the soft sand and watched the stars. 'The things a girl has to do to make a shillin'! I hope that bastard O'Flaherty ain't cancelled tonight's Blue Sally challenge, or I'll be obliged to eat both these bloody savages!' She guffawed inwardly at the notion as the shape of Black Boss Cape Town blotted out the moon. 'Oh Gawd, 'ere we goes again,' she thought. 'Lie back and think of a nice little pot roast, my girl!'
Chapter Thirty-three
The scam which Ikey perpetrated on the evening that Tomahawk and Black Boss Cape Town met became quite famous and was known among the local wags as the glorious night of 'Tit for Tat'. This incident had further enhanced the legend of Sperm Whale Sally and made the acquisition of a Blue Sally talisman even more desirable among the men of the whaling fleet. But it also served to benefit Ikey's own career. He was soon invited to become involved in the local gambling scene, in particular, in the sport of horse racing, which was just then becoming popular in the colony.
Ikey could now be seen at the horse races on a Saturday afternoon where he set up in a small way as an on- course bookmaker, but this did not curtail his nocturnal wandering. It was still his custom to perambulate from one waterfront dive to the next selling his tobacco, and he always finished up at the Whale Fishery to spend the last hour of each night in contented conversations with Sperm Whale Sally, happily recalling old times.
Ikey would sip at a glass of well-watered rum and Sperm Whale Sally would nurse her final quart pot of Bitter Rosie for the night. It was a time when Ikey felt almost like his old self, for Sperm Whale Sally never treated him any differently and did not seem to notice or care about his change in fortune. They were two old friends with a common past, content to be in each other's company, whether silent or merry, both calmed by the presence of the other after a loud and tiring night on the waterfront.
At the end of their hour together, around five of the clock in the morning, and with the help of four cellar-men from the Whale Fishery and Ikey's own puny contribution, which consisted mostly of meddlesome instructions, Sperm Whale Sally was lifted and manoeuvred and finally loaded into a waiting cart and transported by her driver
