(The pirates have risen and come forward. Their questions are put faster and with insolence. Dirk and hook are drawn. Joe stands in an easy, careless attitude. He seems ignorant of danger. He has taken a coal from the fire and slowly, deliberately, with back to the menace, he lights his pipe. Then suddenly he drops it from his teeth. He leaps to action. He draws his knife—two knives, one for each hand. He kicks away a chair, for room. He drives the pirates across the cabin. The candle—all the mugs upon the table—rattle to the stones. He cries out with bravado.)
Joe: Who offers me his carcass first? What! Is pirate blood so thin and white?
(The pirates stand with knives drawn. It is an awkward moment of social precedence.)
Patch: (safe in the farthest corner). It 's me patch, Captain. It 's fetched loose. I follers yer.
Joe: Come, Duke, and take your answer! Have you no stomach for my message? 'Fore God, is there no black ram to lead his sheep to the shearing?
(Joe's is a dangerous gayety. His two knives glisten in the candle light.)
Patch: Scrape him with yer hook, Captain, I follers yer.
Joe: My knife frets. It is thirsty for thick red wine. Who offers me his cask to tap? I 'll pledge the King, although it is a dirty vintage. Come, Captain, I 'll carve you to a dainty morsel. We 'll have fresh meat for the platter. You 'll not be known from scared rabbit-flesh.
(He drives them around the table. Patch takes refuge behind the door. Darlin's red stockings run up the ladder.)
Joe: You bearded hound!