ROBERT (fiercely)
Won’t I?
(He moves suddenly to swing the chair up as a weapon, but, although he struggles with it, cannot move it. He groans, and the Gunner laughs loudly.)
THE GUNNER (laughing)
It’s only bolted to the deck! Heave her up, cully!
BIMBO (still preoccupied with his writing)
We keep the seas longer than you of the merchant ships, mate. We can’t let much lie about loose. Don’t brain us with the chair; sit in it. (He glances across at them authoritatively.) You in that one, madam. (He points to another chair near Robert’s. They stare at him; he stares back, and after a moment they obey him. Bimbo looks at Robert.) I suppose you’re in a puzzle what we’ll do with you, mate.
ROBERT
I’ve faced death before this.
BIMBO (throwing down his pen impatiently)
You expect to have your throat cut, do you?
ROBERT (swallowing)
When you give the word for it. What else?
BIMBO (to the Gunner, angrily)
You hear him?
THE GUNNER (gloomily)
Aye! It’s the way of our calling!
BIMBO (disgustedly)
It’s sickening! (He gets up and paces the floor angrily for a moment or two, then turns sharply to Robert.) You think that’s all we want of a man like you—a man that fought a hundred of us when not another of your whole ship’s company lifted a cutlass! You think all we want of you is to slit your guzzlet, do you? Aye! You do! From the look of your fool face I see it. Sickening!
ROBERT (huskily)
Then what do you want? To hang me instead of cutting my throat?