Meanwhile the skipper had exchanged a glance with Senhor Santos, and I think we all felt that he was going to tell us the truth.
He told it in two words--"Very little." Then the first individual tragedy was enacted before every eye.

With a yell the drunken maniac rushed to the rail.

The nigger was at his heels--he was too late.

Uttering another and more piercing shriek, the madman was overboard at a bound; one of his bundles preceded him; the other dropped like a cannon-ball on the deck.
The nigger caught it up and carried it forward to the captain.
Harris held up his hand.

We were still before we had fairly found our tongues.