It wasn't just to intimidate the enemy, but also Captain Gold's cautious desire to take a closer look at this small boat:
The fattest one must be the captain; no sailor could have so much flesh, and his clothes were also the finest. This man was standing at the bow, looking absolutely flustered and wiping sweat from his brow without stopping.
Captain Gold laughed heartily, "We can't sell this fatso; he must stay and row on the Good Fortune until he drops dead."
There were seven or eight others left on deck, typical sailor-looking types, with worn clothes and skin darkened and cracked from the sun's rays. Two years ago, Good Fortune Gold had been such a wretched sailor, but now he was a Hunter.
There must be more sailors on this ship, definitely some hiding in the dark corners of the boat, praying to escape this ordeal. There was no hurry; they could be slowly sniffed out. No one could get away on the vast sea.