Such was the night when Tomahawk, the giant Red Indian, met Black Boss Cape Town in the Whale Fishery for the exclusive rights to the fair hand of Sperm Whale Sally.

Both men were legends in South Pacific and Antarctic waters, harpooners with a hundred and more kills to their name, and each had earned the True Blue which flew with pride from the masts of their ships.

Luck is a curious companion, it comes to those who believe they hold it, and is an elusive servant to those who doubt they possess it. The conviction that luck is your willing partner brings with it a sharper eye, a keener spirit, a willingness to take more chances, work harder, start earlier and work later. Luck bears the nostrils of success, for it can smell good fortune at a distance and leads those who possess it as surely to its source as a Sabbath roast does to the nose of a pious verger.

The men who sailed on the Merryweather and the Sturmvogel thought themselves blessed with good fortune and so their catches seemed blessed and a cut above the rest of the whaling fleet.

Moreover, the Americans on the Merryweather regarded their crew to be of an even higher status than the Danish ship, for it was rumoured that Sperm Whale Sally carried a tattoo on her enormous right breast which bore the name Tomahawk. It had always been obvious to them that she favoured their man, and therefore their ship, above any other. Now, when they heard that this was not so, that the giant whore had issued a challenge to see who would win her favour, they had grown most indignant and then angry. They were convinced that their harpooner must teach Black Boss a lesson, and establish for all time their supremacy in the South Pacific.

On the Sturmvogel a similar dilemma existed. They knew about the tattoo, and reckoned how the Americans, known in Hobart Town as 'Jonathans', would think their man most especially favoured by Sperm Whale Sally.

They were first to arrive at the Whale Fishery, preceded by Pegleg Midnight who hobbled in on his dummy leg playing his fiddle at a furious pace so that almost all turned their heads. Pegleg continued to play until he reached the huge chair at the end of the challenge table and which was known as 'the Whale's Tail'. It was made of solid Tasmanian oak with the scene of John Rackham riding on the tail of a sperm whale, carved into its backrest. It was where Sperm Whale Sally always sat. Another identical chair, adorned with a carving of the Blue Sally, stood at the other end of the table and was known as 'the Flagging Chair', which was where the challenger sat. Pegleg Midnight brought his fiddle to a crescendo before abruptly stopping in the middle of the highest note.

'They be comin', Black Boss Cape Town and the crew and master o' the Sturmvogel, and by all appearances they be most angry!' he shouted.

He had hardly completed this announcement when Black Boss Cape Town's giant body filled the doorway of the Whale Fishery. He stooped and pushed himself through the door, his shoulders touching either side of the door frame. Black Boss Cape Town walked over to where Sperm Whale Sally sat and upon his dark face was a most mischievous and charming grin. Then he stooped, and in a single movement picked her up and swung her around to face the astonished onlookers. Sperm Whale Sally squealed, but when she realised she was held securely her cries changed to delight. 'Goet, goet, much goet, Sperm Whale Sally!' the giant black man announced, and then swung her around again and deposited her neatly back into the chair.

Sperm Whale Sally, somewhat flustered and red in the face, declared 'I guarantee 'e be a most pleasin'

'arpooner!' and wobbled with laughter. The tension was broken, and those who had come to witness the great bout were swept up in her merriment. Finally she jiggled to a halt and smiled sweetly at Black Boss Cape Town. 'Welcome, lovey, it be grand to see you safe returned! I trusts the True Blue flew true for you and that all your barrels be full o' the good oil?' She turned to the master of the Sturmvogel. 'Evenin', capt'n', then shouted towards the bar. 'Betsy, lovey, bring a double pint tankard o' Bitter Rosie for Mr Black Boss Cape Town, please, and a noggin o' best rum for the good capt'n!'

'We have come to fight!' Captain Jorgensen said suddenly in a raised voice. 'But also we must have a condition, if you please!'

Sperm Whale Sally looked up, shocked. 'Fight? What fight may that be then, capt'n?'

Jorgen Jorgensen drew back, momentarily nonplussed, having assumed everything to be settled, and that the idea of the fight had come from Sperm Whale Sally herself.

'You said, may the best man win!' Pegleg Midnight chipped in. 'Black Boss Cape Town 'ere come to fight the injun! They 'as to fight to see what ship lays the top claim to you, to the luck o' the great sperm whale!'

'Fight? For me?' Sperm Whale Sally drew herself against the back of the huge chair and brought both her hands to her breasts. 'There'll be no fights for me, lads!' She shook her head. 'Not on your bloomin' nelly!'

'We must fight!' Jorgensen repeated, banging his fist on the table.

Sperm Whale Sally looked up in alarm at the anger in his voice. 'Whatever for, capt'n? You both flies the True Blue most proud!'

Captain Jorgensen was not used to explaining himself, and warily looked about the crowded room which had grown completely silent. He seemed conscious that what he was about to say might sound rather foolish. 'We want to have…' he paused and lightly tapped his heart with his forefinger. 'We fight for… your titty!'

'Huh?' Sperm Whale Sally's mouth fell open. A ripple of surprise came from the crowd and then silence as the onlookers waited for the response. She glanced down at her breasts, touching each with the tips of her fat fingers before looking up at Jorgensen. 'One or both?' she asked.

There was a howl of laughter from the crowd, but the master of the Sturmvogel was not amused.

'Starboard only!'

Sperm Whale Sally looked down at her right breast, then at the left one and then back up at the captain. 'So, what be wrong with me other titty?' she enquired mischievously, enjoying the captain's embarrassment and finding it difficult to restrain her laughter.

'Portside belong to Jonathan! Sturmvogel wants boarding rights on the starboard titty!' He turned and motioned to a jack tar who stood near to come forward. 'We'll fight the Jonathan injun and when Black Boss Cape 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.