Marybelle Firkin, who now called herself Sperm Whale Sally, put down her tankard of Bitter Rosie and swept Ikey into her enormous arms, lifting him from the ground in the grandest of hugs, until he begged her for mercy.
'Oh Ikey, it is you!' she screamed with delight. Then she placed Ikey down and held him at arm's length. 'You 'aven't changed at all, lovey, 'andsome as ever!' She pointed to Ikey's bald head. 'No 'at! Where's your lovely 'at?'
Ikey touched the shiny top of his head as though he had only just noticed the absence of his broad-brimmed hat. 'It ain't kosher to wear a Jew's 'at here, my dear, and I have yet to find another I prefers.'
Ikey and Marybelle resumed their friendship, though in truth Sperm Whale Sally, as Marybelle now insisted she be called, had fallen on hard times. Though Ikey was largely, though indirectly, responsible for this, she bore him no malice. Her involvement on the morning of his notorious escape had brought her to the attention of the police, and the blind eye previously turned to the existence of the ratting den upstairs was now withdrawn. As a consequence the profits of the Pig 'n Spit had greatly decreased. With the closing down of the ratting ring, Thomas Tooth and George Betteridge had taken it into their minds to find another buyer for their Bank of England bill paper, no longer trusting Marybelle Firkin as their intermediary. When the two men were arrested they had named her to place bond for them, threatening to tell of her involvement if she did not acquiesce. At the plea of Habeas Corpus, the judge had set the bond very high and when this had been paid Marybelle Firkin found herself under suspicion and at the same time robbed of all of her available resources.
It was not long before she received a visit from a police sergeant whom she had regularly paid to overlook the existence of the ratting ring. Now, after first extorting a tidy bribe from her, he warned that she was about to be investigated by the City police over the matter of the bank paper.
Marybelle had left that same night under the assumed name of Sally Jones, taking the first available boat from Gravesend, which happened to be sailing on the morning tide for Van Diemen's Land. She had arrived in Hobart Town almost penniless, and had found that the only way she could maintain her voracious appetite was to join the ranks of the world's oldest profession. She had soon enough been christened Sperm Whale Sally by the jack tars who came off the whaling ships. She begged Ikey never to reveal her proper name, lest news of her presence in Hobart Town reach England.
'That be my story, Ikey,' Sperm Whale Sally concluded. 'Sad, but no sadder than most and not as sad as many a poor wretch.' She chuckled and placed her boot on the stomach of an unconscious tar under the table at her feet. 'It were pretty bad at first, ain't too much call for an 'arf crown Judy. I grow'd most skinny them first months. Not every whale man likes a four 'undred pound cuddle!' Sperm Whale Sally hooted with laughter. 'It's the 'Mericans what most favoured me, but they ain't always in port. But then, three year ago. I come up with this Blue Sally lark, and now I eats well with a bit to spare for when the whalin' ships be out to sea.' She nudged the man at her feet with the toe of her boot. 'I loves these whalemen, Ikey. They come in from the cruel, cold sea proper starvin' for a bit o' love and cuddlin'.' She started to positively wobble with laughter, 'and I 'as a lot of lovin' to give 'em if they got the stamina to win it!' She lifted her tankard of Bitter Rosie and swallowed half of it in one great gulp. 'Ikey Solomon, we goes back a long ways, it be most lovely to see you again!'
The Blue Sally Challenge was a grand contest known to the crew of every whaling ship that sailed the Pacific Ocean. The Blue Sally was treasured among whalemen above anything else they took to sea, and some of the more superstitious considered it a matter of life or death that the vessel they sailed in carried it flying from the topmast, even though it was nothing more than a modest piece of bunting, a white flag with the outline in blue of a sperm whale stitched upon it. It was common enough in whaling ports around the world for a ship's master or agent recruiting whalemen for the season to be asked two questions: the crewman's share of the catch and, 'Capt'n, do she sail under a Blue Sally?' So important had the flying of the Blue Sally become that a whaling ship sailing into a Pacific port without the blue and white bunting flying from her masthead was the subject of more than a little raucous innuendo as to the masculine nature of the men aboard her.
How this peculiar and unique contest first came about is a story best told by Sperm Whale Sally herself. She recounted it to Ikey early one morning when she was sufficiently sober, having eliminated that night's Blue Sally challenger with such a degree of ease that she was still happily tucking into a leg of pork alone at the challenge table, her opponent stretched out unconscious under it, both arms folded across his chest.
'As you knows, lovey, eatin' is me passion, and drinkin' is me Gawd given gift! So I decides to combine both in a grand competition. If them fuckers won't pay 'arf a crown for me body, they'll do so for me north and south, for me great cake 'ole.' Sperm Whale Sally laughed.
'I needs a story, whalemen being most superstitious and given to legends and the like. So I invents me own. It be a real beauty, lots of adventure and a grand opportunity for me voice, me bein' an actress an' all. I even invents a song what goes with it. That done the trick, the song, the sea shanty what o' course you've heard a hundred times or more.'
Sperm Whale Sally began to sing in the clear, sweet voice the whalemen loved.
Come gather around me, you jack tars and doxies I'll sing you the glorious whaleman's tale Let me tell you the story, of death and the glory of Rackham… who rode on the tail of a Whale So take up your doxy and drink down your ale And dance a fine jig to a fine fishy tale We'll fly the Blue Sally wherever we sail and drink to the health o' the great sperm whale!
It started at dawn on a bright Sabbath morning When Lord Nelson's body came 'ome pickled in rum Every jack tar mourned the great British sailor And drank to their hero as church bells were rung I be born to the sound o' the bells of St Paul's Where they buried the sealord all solemn and proper That very same day harpooner John Rackham Rode the tail of a whale around Davey Jones' locker The watch up the mainmast gave out a great shout, 'A six pod to starboard all swimming in strong!'
So they lowered a whale boat, harpoon gun and line Three cheers for the crew then the whale hunt was on John Rackham, he stood to his harpoon and line 'Row the boat close, lads, 'til we see its great chest Steady she goes now, keep the bow straight Or this great fearless fish will bring all to their rest!'
The boat's bow, on a crest, held still for a moment Sufficient for Rackham to make good his aim Then the harpoon flew screaming to carry the line And buried its head in a great crimson stain 'Steady now, lads, let the fish make his dive Then he'll turn for the top and the fight'll begin Ship your oars, boys, take the ride as he runs For the sperm has a courage that comes from within'
Ten fathoms down the fish turned from its dive As the harpoon worked in, on the way to his heart Then he spied the boat's belly directly above him And he knew they'd pay for this terrible dart!
Fifty tons rose as the fish drove like thunder Like a cork in a whirlpool the boat spun around The jaws of the whale smashed through its planking And the sharks made a meal o' the pieces they found!
John Rackham was saved as the fish drove him upwards he found himself up on the nose of the whale With a snort he was tossed sky high and then backwards and landed most neatly on the great creature's tail 'Let me live! Master Whale, I've a child to be born!