The crimp

by Henry Leverage
The law as set down for sailing masters offers a fair measure of protection for seamen.
Captain Gully, of the steam whaler Bowhead, was familiar with this law. It prevented him from completing his crew. Men of any kind were scarce in San Francisco. Cargoes rotted in ships’ holds while the wages of ordinary seamen mounted to impossible heights.
The Bowhead was ready to steam for the Arctic and Bering Sea whaling grounds. Her boat-steerers, harpooners, mates, engineers, and twelve of a crew were aboard. Captain Gully dared not cat the anchor without eighteen men before the mast. He needed six more hands in the fo’c’s’le.
“Hansen,” he told his first mate, “lower the dingey and go to the Blubber Room on East Street. Ask for Abie Kelly. Bring Abie out with you.”
“The crimp?”
“You know him.”
“ Ja! I dank I know him.”
“Bring him to me!”
Hansen returned at nightfall. He steadied the bosun’s ladder that hung from the taffrail and watched Abie Kelly climb to the deck.
Captain Gully greeted the crimp like a long-lost son. They descended to the whaler’s cabin while Hansen was hooking the dingey’s bow to a dangling fall.
“To be brief as possible,” said Gully after pouring out a generous portion of rum, “I want six men before midnight, when the tide turns.”