He jumped overboard and tried to swim toward the launch, but one of the Germans hit him in the head at the third shot and he disappeared.

Then one of Schillingschen's elephant bullets slit my sleeve, and the next one pierced my helmet.
"Put one into Schillingschen, Fred!" I shouted, but Fred did not answer.

He kept up a very steady succession of shots that were doing no good at all that I could see.
Another German bullet found its mark below deck in the thigh of the Goanese.

He might have known enough to lie quiet, having some alleged white blood in him, but instead he, too, came struggling to the after-deck, bellowing like a mad-man.

Coutlass knocked him back below with a blow on the chin, and he there and then threw the whole crowd into a panic by screaming and kicking.