The Crimp
The law as set down for sailing masters offers a fair measure ofprotection 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 scarcein San Francisco. Cargoes rotted in ships’ holds while the wages ofordinary seamen mounted to impossible heights.
The Bowhead was ready to steam for the Arctic and Bering Sea whalinggrounds. Her boat-steerers, harpooners, mates, engineers, and twelve ofa crew were aboard. Captain Gully dared not cat the anchor withouteighteen 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 theBlubber Room on East Street. Ask for Abie Kelly. Bring Abie out withyou.”
“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 hungfrom the taffrail and watched Abie Kelly climb to the deck.
Captain Gully greeted the crimp like a long-lost son. They descended tothe whaler’s cabin while Hansen was hooking the dingey’s bow to adangling fall.
“To be brief as possible,” said Gully after pouring out a generousportion of rum, “I want six men before midnight, when the tide turns.”
“What kind of men, cappin?”
“Any kind, so long as they are husky—Chinks, Kanakas, dock-rats,mission-stiffs.”
Abie the Crimp, as he was known along the Barbary Coast, upended therum, wiped his mouth, and stared at the skipper of the Bowhead.
Captain Gully was tall, thin, and weather-beaten. Abie was slight. Hehad hawk eyes, black as beads; a hawk’s long nose and a disappearingchin. He had been born in San Francisco. His mother owned the dive knownfrom the Golden Gate to Vladivostok as the Blubber Room.
“Cap,” said Abie, “I’d like to assist you, but you know the law.”
“Time was when you didn’t speak to me of any law.”
“That time is gone, cap. The Seamen’s Union is hostile to shanghaiin’.The crews of all ships going out must sign before the properauthorities.”
Captain Gully knew Abie’s former price.
“There’s a hundred dollars advance for every man you bring aboard whowon’t care what he signs.”
“Blood money?”
“Yes. I’ll pay it to you out of hand.” Captain Gully touched his rightbreast, where a bulging pocket showed.
Abie the Crimp needed money. Six hundred dollars was a fair figure topay for six men.
“There’s only one way to get them,” he said.
“What is that way, Abie?”
“Th’ same way I fixed up old Cappin Pike of th’ Norwhale, season beforelast. He went north with twenty-two good men. I furnished them allexcept three.”
There was pride in Abie’s voice. Captain Gully worked on this. Hesuggested:
“I only want six. Why, that ain’t many for a runner like you.”
“Not many? I should say it was, the way things are ashore—Seamen’sUnion, Coaster Unions, Shipping Board paying eighty dollars a month forordinary sailors. No, it isn’t many, but they are going to be hard toget. Make it one hundred and twenty-five dollars a man.”
“How are you going about getting them aboard, Abie?”
“A new idea with me. I’m a government detective, see. I know thehangouts and scatters of all the crooks in San Francisco. I know wherethey’re coinin’ the queer. I know of a few stills. I heard yesterday oftwo new hop joints right on Dupont Street.”
“You’ll represent yourself as an office