The Tale of The Two-Headed Whale

“I am Cap’n Cutlass of the ship Golden Plunderer, an’ I’m in the mood for mischief.”

The ale house fell suddenly silent at the large, bearded pirate blocking the only exit from the building.

“I have conquered the seven seas, outfought the English Navy, and outrun the fastest of Spanish galleons. Who here can challenge my prowess of the sea?”

Drinking, eating, cavorting suddenly ground to a nervous halt. Cutlass was notoriously unpredictable. Rumoured to have once cut a man’s ear off for not listening to what he had to say, added to the pirate Captain’s cruel reputation.

“If he could cut the ear off a man, what else is he capable of doing?” Clandestine conversations would play out in quiet murmurs behind closed doors. The consensus was that if you ever found yourself trapped in the company of Captain Cutlass, you’d better have a good story to earn your release.

Unsheathing his swashbuckling sword from his side, the irritated pirate waved it in circular motions above his head.

“I say it again, I am Captain Cutlass of the ship The Golden Plunderer…”

Just then, a voice from the back of the room mockingly shouted out, “That be better known as The Golden Blunderer, I’d say,” the male voice taunted.

“Search for gold, but find only wasted time,” the gibe added.

Without any noticeable command, a parting wave of the ale house’s clientele created a clear path directly from Cutlass to a heavily bearded and long-haired man of advanced years, sitting at a booth in one corner of the room - vociferously masticating on a meaty leg of some misfortunate cooked beast, and slurping down a flagon of ale from a pewter-coloured tankard. Immediately, the two wiry-looking bookends standing next to Cutlass made a straight line to intercept the insulting drunkard. Ignoring the two henchmen, the man casually continued his meal, unaware of the approaching Captain Cutlass.

“Who be you, then?” Cutlass menacingly enquired.

“I be no-one,” was the dismissive reply.

“Then who be your ship?”

The drunkard responded with, “The Harpoon.”

A few gasps of incredulity filled the surrounding air, as Cutlass’s cynical laugh pre-empted his real thoughts.

“The Harpoon, ye say. How be you here - when the Harpoon lies at the bottom of Skeleton Island?”

Glugging down a wash of ale, the drunkard retorted, “I’m a good swimmer.”

A few moments elapsed before Cutlass burst into a roaring laugh.

“Harghh! Ye be funnier than an English Navy officer pissin’ his britches while walking the plank.”

Nodding his head in agreement, the drunkard added, “Not all of it sank.”

“Say you,” Cutlass suspiciously noted.

“Aye, say me.”

“Pray tell how a ship that sinks, does not sink.”

Whatever shock and awe Cutlass had created upon his entrance to the ale house, was quickly replaced with a highly inquisitive, almost nosey air of intrigue among its customers and staff.

“As the crow flies, so does its nest,” the cryptic answer intrigued Cutlass.

“Say you a riddle?” Cutlass confusedly thought out loud.

“Nay, you inexperienced scallywag,” the drunkard insulted. “High above the swabbed deck on the main mast was where I clinged desperately onto – after the Leviathan took out our lower decks, while everyone slept.”

“Leviathan, you say… Why such a monstrous name, you old salt?”

“As God is my witness, this abomination of nature had two heads.”

Another round of gasps filled the captive audience of enthralled malingerers wanting to hear more, as they slowly crowded around the booth.

“Ere, What was a whaler ship doing in these waters, far away from its hunting grounds?”

Cutlass doubted the incongruity of the drunkard’s story to the point of impulsive irritation. He felt there was only one way to get some form of definitive answers from the obtuse man, so he decided to invoke an uncommon old pirate decree.

“Under God’s witness and those of you within range,” he began. “I call on the pirate’s creed of seek and thee shall find. This scurvy riddler has a tale to tell and I swear that if he does not abide by our pirate law, then I will run him through with my dagger, mount him on an open spit-roast and cook him alive.”

The rule of truth-be-told being cited in public, raised a few eyebrows among the crowd. A rarity, it created a murmur of questionable integrity within the room. However, the pursuit of bounty in the waters surrounding the pirate enclave of Nassau, made obscure demands, a necessity of wayward seafarers sailing on the wrong side of maritime law.

“If any one of you grog-snarfing swines try and leave afore I be told what needs to be told, come the morn, you’ll find yerselves kissing crabs at the bottom O’ the bay.”

Turning to the drunkard, Cutlass reiterated his question.

“I ask you again on the threat of grievous harm, what was a whaler ship doing so far away from its hunting grounds?”

Mulling over the consequences of not answering, the drunkard thought long and hard before capitulating.

“We were chasing the infamous gold of Davy Jones,” he continued - much to the chagrin of Captain Cutlass.

Like a weaving raconteur, the drunkard beckoned everyone closer.

“Gather closely, my friends, for this is no imaginary fable of sea monsters. This is a first-hand account from the man that survived its angry jaws… You see, this whale had been talked of far and wide in the northern hemisphere. Of how it migrated south and west on its journey to its breeding grounds. Along the way, Davy Jones’s ship, The Flying Dutchman, encountered the abhorrent beast and took a fancy to capturing it for posterity’s sake. But being equipped neither with harpoon, nor sufficient means to catch it, all Davy’s makeshift spikes did, was enrage the beast beyond reason, and it angrily turned the ship over, sending Davy and all that sailed under him, to a watery grave. In its duplicitous anger, it swallowed whole; several chests of great fortune plundered from the Spanish. It was said that salvage crews looking for the booty never found it and thought it lost forever. However, a merchant ship later spotted the whale, and its crew relayed later, that when it spouted water from its blow hole, the ship was showered in doubloons and pieces of eight. From there on, the legend was born, and any whaling ship not dutifully engaged in hunting, headed south in search of the treasure held within the belly of that two-headed giant.”

Slamming the flat side of his sword onto the wooden table, Captain Cutlass had heard enough.

“Belay that yarn, you blabber-mouthed seadog. Why, I’ll run you through just to shut you up from spouting your elongated lies. How did your whaling ship get destroyed by something it was built to kill?”

Undeterred by the captain’s threat, the drunkard continued his story.

“It was on my watch,” the drunkard explained. “Whilst my attention was on the crashing surf beyond anchorage, below the water line, he exacted his premeditated revenge on the ship that stuck him so penetratingly deep. You see, we all thought he was lost to us, but undetected to anyone aboard, he remained unknowingly tethered to us, and had continued to craftily swim directly below us. It was as if he knew that we would not realise he was there. Then, after we anchored for the night, just beyond the mouth to the island, he exacted his revenge upon us all, dragging us onto the jagged rocks, where all but one soul on board… me… perished beyond resuscitation. The break-up of the ship freed him to swim away, but mortally wounded, he finally succumbed to his injuries, and washed ashore in one of the watery caves of the island.”

“If what you say is true,” Cutlass’s unconvinced tone asked. “How can ye prove it?”

Without hesitation, the drunkard pulled a leather pouch from inside his coat and plonked it onto the table. To everyone’s amazement, several gold doubloons fell out beside the bag’s draw-stringed opening.

“Marooned, I was, on that island for three long years. I had swum to shore the morning after the sinking and made my way up the cliffs to seek out help. But the island was uninhabited. Fortunately, there was plenty of water, fruit, fish, and firewood to be had, so I survived on my wits alone. After nearly ten months unchallenged by adventure, curiosity took me back down the cliffs toward the caves. Over several months, I had observed a high level of shark activity and knew they had found the whale’s carcass. When the sharks no longer mingled, I took it upon myself to answer the legend’s question. To shorten this story, what you see on the table before ye, is a small sample of what I found.”

“Where be the rest?” Cutlass menacingly demanded to know.

“Hidden, still in the cave where I found it. But if you insist on pointing that cold, sharp steel at me then heed my words and listen closely, for I alone know the way to the treasure.”

Running out of tolerable patience, Cutlass slammed his fist hard onto the table.

“You will tell all, you long-in-the-tooth Picaroon. Seek and ye shall find has been invoked.”

Disturbed by the captain’s threat, the drunkard answered in the only way old seafarers could. In dramatic rhyme.

“Hear ye, hear ye, ahoy, I say! For I tell this only once to be remembered and recalled once over to not be forgot. This be the law of the pirate creed.”

With all ears straining to hear his words, the drunkard began his soliloquy.

“I shall tell ye a tale

Of the two-headed whale

That swallowed a treasure of note

It died on a tide

Trapped perilously inside

Of a cave where it started to bloat

Its carcass ripped bare

By sharks with no care

All that remains are its bones

And inside that tall frame

I discovered a chest, with a name

That said property of old Davy Jones

Though tall and farfetched

This tale is not stretched

For there’s only one man that knows where

Treasure abounds

below stone icicle surrounds

On an island one hundred yards square

Neither North nor due South

This chest of great douth

Will blow the great wind that you need

Head not East but sail West

Navigate at your best

You fowl stench of inbred dickweeds

For at precisely ten bells

When you hear the death knell

Of Skeleton Island cry out

Hug the shore of the sound

Go straight - not around

Not once, but twice come about

When the mouth is agape

Reel in your main cape

Drop anchor then cast off your oars

Look not up but see down

When the tide starts to frown

Then row as the false tide withdraws

But beware the sixth wave

That deceives the fooled knave

It will pull you so hard till you burst

For your lungs cannot keep

Enough air for that deep

Ne’er you fatally succumb to its curse

A point on my map

Shows the cave’s narrow gap

Get through it and tales will be told

Of the pirate that sought

And back he did brought

The legend of Davy Jones gold

Should you fair live and well

defeat the cave’s spell

and come upon what you so seek

Beware the sharp bite

Of a low stalagtite

So bring lanterns that light for a week

Only one soul before

Can say that he saw

The contents that locker contains

And to stay undisturbed

Its location unheard

He buried it wrapped up in ship’s chains

A crow that flies not

and a sail full of rot

marks X as the place of the chest

dig there under foot

for the gold Spanish loot

lies under the washed-up bird’s nest

Naysayers will mock

That there is no such rock

Nor an island that shelters such riches

but the wind that blows west

I wholeheartedly confess

Will grant your desires and blind wishes.”

The total absence of movement or chatter among the room’s inhabitants, demonstrated the intensity of the drunkard’s words, leaving everyone but the pirate captain in a daydream of finding treasure. Cutlass, had absorbed every word and confirmed this by asking one straightforward, single question.

“Where be your map?”

Emptying the remaining contents of the pouch onto the table, the drunkard slowly removed the leather stitching that held the purse together. Flattening it out on the sticky table, he faced the inside of the pouch up for everyone to see. Captain Cutlass’s eyes lit up when he realised that on the inside of the pouch was a detailed sketch of a map depicting the location on Skeleton Island, where the cave system was that held the buried treasure.

“Do you believe me, now?” The drunkard arrogantly demanded.

Plucking the map from the table, Cutlass examined it closely. Realising the weight of the convincing evidence presented to him, his temperament grew slightly darker.

“What be, if I just take this from you and still mount your head on a spike?”

“Please take it,” the drunkard surprisingly replied. “I have all I need from that cursed box. My life was a living hell of loneliness on that island, so I never want to return there. If you want to risk your men, your ship, and yourself, then go now, before the ship that rescued me, realises the source of the payment I gave them for bringing me here. All I ask is that you leave me unharmed to finish my meal and let me enjoy a quiet life amongst my new friends.”

Still not completely convinced, Cutlass had one final question.

“What if you have emptied the chest and there’s nothing there when we find it?”

“I am bound to your pirate oath,” replied the drunkard. “I cannot tell a lie. The treasure lives still, in those caves.”

Pondering the drunkard’s words, Captain Cutlass hesitated for a moment, before ordering all of his crew to action.

“Will, Tim, Bosun, we set sail immediately. Thar be doubloons to find. Onwards to The Plunderer, we go.”

An additional ten or so pirates jumped up from their concealed seated positions to join the exiting crew, while Cutlass lingered an extra few moments.

“If what you say be true, old man. Your freedom is hereby granted. But be ye warned. If that chest has been plundered, you best be nowhere near these waters when I return.”

“Aye, Captain,” the drunkard acknowledged. “Go claim your golden future.”

Sheathing his sword, Captain Cutlass turned, then hurried from the ale house. From his seated position, the drunkard watched through the open door, as Cutlass hurried to catch up with his crew, tightly holding his sword from swinging wildly in its harness with one hand and pinning his hat tightly to his head with the other hand. His sheer excitement was evident as he picked up his pace, heading toward the distant mainsail being hoisted slowly up its mast. With the remaining revellers in the ale house transfixed by the scene playing out down the sandy path, small conversations broke out discussing the situation, and what they would spend Spanish gold on, if they found it. However, all conversation came to an abrupt halt at the slamming of the ale house door, diverting everyone’s attention to the new figure standing large and proud, hands on hips, yelling like a pirate.

“Aargh!” Shouted the imitating drunkard. “I am Captain Swordface of the pirate ship The Blunderer!” He mockingly yelled to a chorus of boos and cheers.

“I have sailed seventeen seas, out-hid the Spanish, and fled from the English Navy.”

A more vociferous outburst of laughter responded to the drunkard’s ridiculing declaration.

“I accidently cut the ears from a deaf man, plucked an eye from a blind man, cut out the tongue of a mute, and won a sword fight against a peg-legged, hooked-hand, eye-patched, midget.”

“Aargh,” returned the male and female voices of the room.

“I invoked a pirate’s creed of truth-be-told, that I made up myself to sound like a real pirate.”

Fits of laughter filled the room, as he continued his parody.

“An, I am off to claim the lost treasure of Davy Jones, using a map that an old seadog gave me, drawn up by his nine-year-old granddaughter at play.”

“Aargh, Aargh,” shouted the room to the accompaniment of derisive howls.

“What happens when he realises it’s all just a tall tale, Cap’n?” A young ship’s hand asked.

“Well, I reckon, The Blunderer, will have joined ol’ Davy himself by then. There’s no way through that gap without hitting jagged rock.”

“Was there really a two-headed whale, Cap’n?” The same young sailor innocently asked. It was apparent that he was not the only one needing to know, as the room fell completely silent. Filling his tankard, the drunkard downed its contents, spilling some of it through his thick, long beard. Using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the residue foam from his lips, he commanded the full attention of the room.

“If there be a two-headed whale anywhere, then all I can say is… the one who saw it was just drunk out of his mind from spending his gold on ale!”

A cacophony of cheers, whoops, whistles, and laughter flew out of the ale house and travelled at the speed of sound down the path, overtaking the delirious pirates - now onboard their ship.

Captain Cutlass stood authoritatively on the Quarterdeck issuing instructions and commands, as the anchor was hoisted. Hearing the noise emanating from the ale house, he turned to his men, and shouted as loud as he could,

“Ye see there, men? That’s what a little pirate persuasion can do to any fearful man of Captain Cutlass. The relief of those lives I spared in that ale house is so strong, they’re giving us an early sailor’s soft farewell. Yeo, Heave Ho, lads! For we are bound for Davy Jones’s locker…!