Theirs was the old story—only too familiar to the history of the dredging fleet.
“My name is Wallace Brooks,” said one of them, a thick-set, good-natured looking youth of about twenty years. “I come from up Haverstraw way, on the Hudson river—and I thought I was used to hard work, for I’ve worked in the brick-yards there some; but that’s just play compared to this.
“Well, I went down to New York, to look for work, and I fell in with this chap. His name’s Willard Thompson. He’s a New Yorker, and has knocked around there all his life. I’m afraid he won’t stand much of this work here. He was a clerk in a store, but always wanted to take a sea voyage.”
Willard Thompson, standing wearily by the forecastle, did not, indeed, present a robust appearance, calculated to endure the hardships of a winter on Chesapeake Bay. He was rather tall and thin and sallow, dressed more flashily than his friend, Brooks, and was of a weaker type.
“We fell in with a man in South street, one day,” continued Brooks, “and he told us all about what a fine place this bay was; how it was warm here all winter, and oyster dredging the easiest work there is—‘nothing to do but watch the boat sail, dragging a dredge after it,’ was the way he put it. He didn’t say anything about this everlasting grind of winding at the machines. Said the pay was twenty-five a month, and live like they do at the Astor House.
“He fooled us, all right, and we signed with him in New York, and he sent us down to Baltimore. They put us into a big boarding-house there, with a lot of men. Well, we found out more what it was going to be like, and we were going to back out and get away; but they were too smart for us—drugged our coffee one night—and, well, you know the rest. We’ve waked up at last. Whew, but’s tough! I wish I was back in the brick-yard, with a mile of bricks to handle. Isn’t old Haley a pirate?”
They were ordered to work again, soon, and the conversation ended.
Working that afternoon with the sailor, Sam Black, at the winch, Harvey got a further insight to the devious ways and the shrewdness of the dredgers, of the type of Hamilton Haley.
There sailed up, after a time, a smaller bug-eye, which ran along for some miles abreast of the Brandt, while the two captains exchanged confidences.
“Ahoy, Bill,” called Haley; “what d’yer know?”