"Have you figured up results?"
"Not fully, sir; two of our men are cut rather badly, and Cole hasn't come too yet from a smart rap on the head."
"None got away?"
He grinned cheerfully.
"Not 'less they swum; thar's six dead ones aboard. Four took ter the water, mostly because they hed too. The only livin' one o' the bunch is thet nigger 'longside the wheel, an' nuthin' but a thick skull saved him."
"Then there were eleven in the party. What do you suppose has become of the others aboard the Namur?"
He shook his head, puzzled by the question.
"I dunno, sir; they might be a waitin' out there in the fog. Perhaps the nigger cud tell you."
I crossed over to where the fellow sat on a grating, his head in his hands, the girl still clinging to my sleeve, as though fearful of being left alone. The man was a repulsive brute, his face stained with blood, dripping from a cut across his low forehead. He looked up sullenly at our approach, but made no effort to rise.
"What's your name, my man?" I asked in Spanish.