Free Tommo & Hawk by Bryce Courtenay Page A

on an American whaling ship which did not permit grog, then he would be safe, and we would both be embarked upon a grand adventure. When Mary bade us gone, I acted on this notion.

    Perhaps whaling is in our blood? This is a question I also hope to answer. Our fathers were whalemen - Tommo's a giant Red Indian by the name of Tomahawk and mine an even bigger black man by the name of Black Boss Cape Town.

    Ikey had told us how we were conceived as a result of that legendary night when the two harpooners wrestled for the singular favours of the giant whore, Sperm Whale Sally. Our mother was said to be imbued with the spirit of the whale, and those who coupled with her won good fortune for their vessel on the hunt. Yet only two men had succeeded in bedding her and sailing under the 'True Blue' flag which bestowed her blessing. These men were Tommo's father and mine. When the whaling season brought both their ships into port at the same time, each man was determined to claim her for his own. But in the end, neither man alone was strong enough for Sally and, to heal the rivalry between them, she gave herself to both. It is from this loving that twins were born, one white and the other black, one tiny and one huge, one Tommo and the other me.

    When we were born and Ikey adopted us, he wrote to the Royal Society in London, hoping to gain some fame from this remarkable birth. They replied that while the fertilising of the one female egg by seed from two different males is most unusual, it was not unknown to happen among whores where numerous and near simultaneous couplings took place, and that it was not a matter of sufficient interest for their record books. Ikey always said that if our mother had been a duchess instead of a whore they'd have taken more notice and we'd be famous.

    Knowing our birthright, it was only natural that I should choose a whaling ship for Tommo and me to sail on. All on board the Nankin Maiden have heard the legend of Sperm Whale Sally, and some old salts claim they know the two giant whalemen, though none has heard of, or seen, either for several years, and none knows we are their sons.

    I am lost in these recollections when there is a shout from high above me. It is Tommo, high-pitched and much excited, shouting that he has seen a spout. 'Thar she blo-o-o-o-ows! Thar she blo-o-o-o-o-ows!' he bellows down at the top of his voice. Then the other two lookouts start shouting as they too see the whales.

    For a few moments nothing appears to happen, then the whole ship springs to life, like a dozing animal suddenly surprised. My recent thoughts tumble into oblivion as I jump to my feet to play my part in the whale chase to come.

    Seb Rawlings, the fourth mate, has not yet included me in the crew of the whaleboat he captains. Instead he has selected William Lanney to serve as the fifth crewman along with four Maori whalemen led by Hammerhead Jack, an impressive giant of a man.

    I am the 'stand-by' and must ensure that all the equipment needed in the boat for a whale hunt is kept in good working order and made ready. Now I climb in while it is still attached to the davits to make one last inspection before the crew is lowered into the sea.

    I check everything thoroughly, though there is scarcely time. The fast launching of the whaleboats is of great concern to Captain O'Hara. Quickly I scan the two-thirds-inch manila rope in the aft barrel. Only yesterday I examined every inch of this line for fraying before folding it back myself, so I know all two hundred fathoms to be in good order. My secret mark is still upon it which means it has not been tampered with. Below me on deck I hear Hammerhead Jack lead his men in some sort of savage war cry, a ritual of theirs.

    I check the splices to the two harpoons which will be attached to the line by means of short warps, and then look over the harpoons themselves. They are of the new double-barbed Temple iron which rotates ninety degrees within the flesh of the whale