From The Crow’s Nest
The Crimson Pride was the fastest ship in all of Spain—but it wasn’t fast enough.
The year was 1684 and the Crimson Pride was sailing through the crystal blue waters off the West Indies. This was its third voyage since being built, and unbeknownst to the surly crew, it would be its last.
An ominous moon loomed high above the quiet ship—watching over the sleeping crew. Only one person, a young boy named Diego, was awake. His duty was to stay on lookout for rival pirate ships. This was his fourth night on lookout, and it was as boring as the three preceding it.
With no signs of action, young Diego started to feel his eyelids grow heavy. The taps of gentle waves hitting the hull of the ship was like a sweet lullaby to his ears. And before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep in the crow’s nest.
The sudden burst of cannon fire woke everyone on board. Diego, more shocked than anyone, immediately grabbed his handheld telescope from his waistband and began to frantically scan the ocean.
All was dark for the moon had sunk behind an eerily black group of clouds. The water was getting choppy and all the men rushed to the deck. They bickered and argued in a confused state, but then another thunderous blast erupted from the distance.
The men dove for cover. Everyone waited for another deafening blast, but it didn’t come. Slowly, the confused pirates began to ease their way to the sides of the ship.
“There!” Diego shouted.
The captain, having made his way to the main deck from the captain’s quarters, commanded all men to their stations.
“It’s a ship!” Diego said.
About 300 yards away was a ship, jet black with ragged sails. It was monstrous in size and was gaining on the Pride with great haste. Knowing they were ill-prepared for battle with an unknown adversary, the captain ordered a fast retreat.
It took all their effort, but the men managed to get the boat turned and speeding off in the opposite direction. But no matter how quickly they ripped through the choppy water, the mystery ship still gained.
“The hell is’at?” The captain, normally a stoic, strong-willed man, was visibly shaken. “No boat be keepin’ up with the Pride. It’s impossible!”
But the ship didn’t just keep up, it was nearly upon them now. And that’s when the men noticed, it wasn’t touching the water. Before they could brace themselves, the ship rammed right into them
The next morning the debris of the Pride’s remains floated casually in the calm water. There was only one survivor who was rescued by a passing fishing vessel. He was a young boy named Diego.
The boy never spoke after that. And he died about 30 years later in an alley of a pub. The only personal item found on him was a journal. It had only one entry:
March 14th, 1684
It came. It was black as night and moved like a demon. Its crew was dead. But they moved like the living. The demon ship had a flag. It was. It was the flag of the Crimson Pride. It was us…