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The Flying Dutchman
It was a sunny day in the Caribbean Sea, the water as flat and smooth as glass, the ship was an older ship, a 7 year old Man of War, named “Messenger.” She was a powerful ship, triple masted, double decked, and fifty guns, but it was no match what attacked us that day. Oh! I never introduced myself, my name is Hamill Brown, and I am a pirate under Captain Morgan, but I didn’t always work for him. This is the tale of how I encountered the most devastating ghost ship to ever roam the seven sea’s…The Flying Dutchman.
Anyways back to what I was saying, it was a gray and stormy day, and we had just left Guadalupe on our way back to Europe. We were doing some work in the Caribbean Sea for a smuggler who wanted us to bring some Indian spices to the Caribbean to be brought on with another ship. So we had gotten that done and was back one our way homeward bound, but our Captain, who only went as Captain Billy Bones, wished to stop in the new British colony of Virginia to do some repairs and some rest, though we all knew what he wanted. He wanted rum, and lots of it, though we never carried any rum on the ship for long because of him, he would always drink it all within a few days of obtaining it, leaving non for the others. But he steered us towards the land and we stop there for a few days.
Not much interesting happened in Virginia except for the fact a ship charged into the harbor one day when the weather had gone terrible. When they came into the tavern, they were going on about how a ship was chasing them, though it wasn’t any normal ship. They said the ship had tattered sails, red as blood, though it moved as fast as a ship with the best made sails. It looked as if it had been under the water for years; of course every sailor in the tavern believed him, all except for our captain.
“Thar be no such thing as the Flying Dutchman, it be nothing more than a tale to scare land lubbers from going out.” He croaked.
“But sir, what’s to say it does exist?” I asked him back, our Captain giving me a stern look.
“If ye be so worried about a false ship, ye just say so and I will give ye yer payment and send you on your way here” he retorted, I didn’t go any farther not wanting to upset him anymore.
“Also this does not set back our plans, we are leaving tomorrow and day break, so what are ye doing in here, go out there and get the ship ready for tomorrow!” he bellowed as all our crew members went back out to work, all starting an old sea shanty we all sing.
“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest”
“Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”
“Drink to the devil and done for the rest”
“Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum”
I had a bad feeling once I woke up the next day, it was about an hour before we left, and I first to awake. As per the tradition on the ship, first one up always makes the breakfast for the crew and gets the ship ready for our day, so I went to the galley and started on a goulash that is easy enough to make, being sure to make it before everyone would be up and ready for our day. The weather was already starting to turn worse, the sky was nothing but gray; it was the type of weather that one would expect to see a ghost ship on. Anyways I had gotten the ship mostly ready for the day as the rest of the crew came onto deck, instantly getting to work, finishing the preparations for our voyage to home.
We left an hour or so later, and we were making good time. The way we went had us rushing the port of Santa Marta, but as we had everything, we did not stop. As we were going past, we spotted a battered frigate, the hull was damaged from cannon shots, as they were signaling they had letters they wanted us to take on home, for they were most likely not going to make it, the captain ordered us to slow the ship to fish out the barrel they left bobbing in their ships wake, we managed to grab it, and were on our way, but not much later, the storm was worsening, becoming a wall of death, with the ship in the center, with tattered blood red sails.
“Thar be no way. That can’t be real!” Our captain bellowed, but his words were short-lived, as a massive wave sent from the ship crashed into the side of the ship, sending him over board. The first mate instantly took control, ordering us to turn the ship around, and make our way back to port, we turned the ship around, and charged away, The Flying Dutchman following us without any faltering. The Dutchman keeps on fallowing, gaining on us, as they get closer we can hear the demons on the ship laugh their horrible screech.
“The wind be changing east!” The first mate ordered out, we all knew to turn the sails as to catch as much wind as to get us moving as fast as we could.
“Everybody hold on!!” He yelled out, as the ship crested a giant wave, as tall as the center mast, falling down to the trough that was created below, all men held on to what they could, for they were damned should they fall in. I myself was on manning the lines that kept the sails where they should be to keep the wind full in the sails.
“Thar be Santa Marta, head full on!” The First Mate yelled, as he positioned us towards the entrance of the harbor, the wind starting to die out from the Dutchman’s storm.
“Risk it all men, this be the only chance to get to harbor!” He yelled sounding quite frantic. We all did out best to keep the ship moving to the harbor, for we were dead if we did not make it. After what seemed like hours, our ship charged into harbor, the Dutchman turned around, giving a bitter scream for they lost their pray. We pulled into a birth for the day, but out of our men’s curiosity we cracked the barrel open, to see what those letters say. As we went through them, we saw they are all moldy old parchments were sent to people all long dead.
“Let it be known, that if one sees a battered old Frigate signaling that needs letters taken to harbor, pass them, for you’ll be sent face first into the wrath of the Dutchman.” Our new captain told to us, as we restocked the ship for the rest of the voyage.