A Skirmish In The Caribbean

• Ajinkya Datir, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2021

Santo Domingo, 1645

Buccaneers, scallywags and privateers alike from all over the continent came to the Leaky Corsair in Santo Domingo to lay back and relax. It was a large tavern in the heart of the bustling city of Santo Domingo. The scent of spiced rum and ale combined with that of juicy beef was just the icing on the cake. They were famed for their excellent drink and hearty portion sizes, something pirates didn’t mind spending some extra doubloons on. But the substantial amount of pirates means trouble cannot be too far away.

The crowd gathered at the centre cheered as Thomas Jones’ dagger sliced through the man’s leather armour. Thomas Jones leered at the unfortunate soul who sank to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The wound on the left of the other man’s chest oozed blood all over the wooden planks of the tavern. He briefly glanced at the writhing body on the floor, before turning his attention towards any potential challengers. Nodding contentedly, he motioned towards the other man’s pile of doubloons on the other side of the tavern. His first mate shoved through the crowd to reach the pile. He gathered the doubloons, in hands as big as shovels, and deposited them onto the already enormous pile next to the captain. Jones slowly surveyed the tavern,

“Anyone else?” he asked

This whole while, Diego Santoza and his bosun, Alfonso Rivera, watched on from the corner of the tavern. Rivera glanced to his side to see Santoza clenching his fist in anger. He was about to stop him but once Santoza had made up his mind, there was no changing it.

“Me,” Santoza’s voice pierced through the silence of the room

All heads turned towards Santoza as he strolled over to Jones.

“You and me, duel, all in.”

The energy within the tavern was filled with anticipation, over the unparalleled contest. Jones was a great deal taller than the smaller Spaniard, and far more muscular. The tavern-goers had already begun placing bets, and the odds seemed to be in Jones’ favour. Though it was quite unnerving to see Santoza confidently stride towards the centre of the tavern. His dark eyes seemed to pierce right through whoever dared to look at them.

Both captains took their places on separate sides of the room. Jones and Santoza both had their daggers unsheathed. Interestingly they had contrasting stances. Jones opted for the more traditional forwards hilt grip, whereas Santoza used the unconventional reverse hilt grip. The bosun gave the signal and time slowed down. Jones lunged forward with the tip pointed level at Santoza’s chest. Santoza easily ducked underneath the attack taking a few steps back. Jones sensing victory, launched a barrage of slashes and stabs. Jones had plenty of opportunities to realise that in actual fact he was outmatched, like the way Santoza easily parried all of his attacks and the way he floated on his feet. But, like all the opponents Santoza had duelled, Jones never had any idea of what was to come. Santoza decided not to toy with Jones any longer and launched 3 slashes in quick succession. The first sliced through Jones’ thick leather armour like butter, and the other 2 formed deep gashes in his thighs. Groaning, Thomas Jones collapsed onto the floor.