—After spending the night in one of the caves, I nearly ran into the men of Thomas Richards. I have no desire to meet the man himself.

I once heard a tale from an innkeeper on Tortuga about a quick-witted Spanish woman who managed to fend off Richards’ cutthroats. At the time, she was serving as first mate aboard a merchant vessel bound for the West Indies, its hold packed with outrageously expensive Spanish wine.

As they neared Hispaniola, a pirate ship bore down on them. The captain prepared to surrender, but the crew refused—Richards was known for leaving no survivors. That was when the Spaniard proposed breaking the wine bottles and scattering the shards across the deck, so the pirates would slash their feet the moment they boarded.

Said and done. The crew barely had time to spread the glass and hide in the cabin before the first cutthroats leapt aboard… and immediately howled in pain. Their screams were answered by precise gunshots fired through a small window in the cabin door.

In the end, Richards sailed off empty-handed. The crew celebrated their victory—but the captain fumed. He cursed the Spaniard for weeks and eventually put her ashore at the nearest port without pay. After all, thanks to her, he had lost his entire precious cargo.

The innkeeper claimed she wasn’t troubled by this in the slightest. Later, she acquired a ship of her own—and keeps a few crates of fine wine in the hold. Just in case.

Best for me to put some distance between myself and these caves while I still can. As always, I’ll bury the excess gear beneath a tree marked with a red cloth. Just in case.

— from the diary of Alexandre Exquemelin, traveler