There was no doubt of the heartiness and sincerity of his welcome. There was cordiality in his voice, and a genial smile on his face. He was a large, powerfully built man, hearty and free in all his actions and words. The boys threw off their outer garments, and gathered about the open fire in the sitting-room.
Edward Warren was for getting home before dark, but Will Adams wouldn’t hear of it. He started the two servants on an early supper, and his guests sat down to table with him, an hour later, enjoying the best that his house afforded.
“I don’t have much company, nowadays,” he explained, as he sat offering them his hospitality in the cheery dining-room. “I lead rather a lonely life, in fact. About the only strangers that come to my door are a few poor fellows from off the dredgers—got clear by hook or crook, and coming begging, rousing me up at all hours of the night, asking a night’s shelter or a dollar to get up the bay with.”
Henry Burns listened eagerly.
“Are there many that get away when they’re beaten?” he asked.
Will Adams paused a moment, while his face darkened.
“There’s some that get away,” he answered, “who never come farther ashore than just beyond the reach of the tide. Down on that shore yonder there’s eight of the poor chaps buried. They were washed ashore, and we found them. Some of them had the marks that showed they had been knocked overboard—beaten—abused shamefully. That’s the way some of them escape.
“Others do get away, with never a cent in their pockets, half starved and half clad. I help a few of them along.
“Sometimes in the still summer nights, I hear a man crying for mercy out aboard a dredger. I know what’s happening to him—tied up to the mast and getting a lashing. Sometimes an entire vessel’s crew is beaten up, by the captains and mates of four or five vessels that work together. Hard life? Well, it’s about the hardest I know of.
“You wouldn’t think a man would swim ashore on a winter night, half a mile or more, in water you could hardly bear your hand in? Well, I’ve known them to do that. Had one come the other night. He was nearly dead when he got here—say, that was the queerest of all. He brought a note ashore, in his cap, and lost the cap down by the shore; and I had to go out with a lantern and find the cap for him, to keep him from going back, half dead as he was. I’m going to give that note to the authorities. I’ll show it to you, if you’ve any curiosity.”