The HMS Windsor was sunk off the coast of Gibraltar, by pirates, in the 
year 1665. It sank to the bottom of the sea, and stayed there, 
undiscovered, for over three hundred years; the Windsor was at best a 
minor ship, and a young registrar named Chesterton Merriwick had failed to 
include it in the roster of British vessels. Thus this ship that never 
officially was drowned without even a note to mourn its passing. The 
Windsor, like many ships, was crewed by a group of former criminals and 
generally independent, unattached, young males; none of these were noted 
and missed. It contained no particular cargo, and no one was expecting it 
anywhere in particular. It was the proverbial tree in the forest, with no 
one around to mark its demise.

The irrelevance of the HMS Windsor was cemented when this eminently royal 
name was (re)appropriated for a destroyer which saw some vaguely notable 
action in World War II. This later ship lived a comparatively peaceful 
life before being sold for scrap at the war's end, when metal transitioned 
back from a destructive material to a constructive one. The short chapter 
of its thirty-year-old life came and went as its unbeknownst eponym lay, 
dormant all the while, in the Atlantic Ocean.

When the happily named Windsor Industries started their project to map the 
ocean floor for suitable paths for next-generation cabling, they were 
given a list of all known shipwrecks. The technology was new, and when a 
man named Samuel Steinberg claimed that there was a ship full of metal at 
the bottom of the ocean, no one believed him. Undaunted, Steinberg 
mustered a few physicists and divers, and his team set up shop on a former 
floating oil rig forty miles from the shipwreck sight. 

As the divers descended, Steinberg watched them approach the ship on his 
radar. The dots pinged the map over and over, but as they approached the 
ship, Steinberg noticed that they were getting dimmer and dimmer, and soon 
they disappeared. Alarmed, he tried to contact the divers on his radio, 
only to hear nothing but static. He gave a command to resurface, but the 
usual chorus of 10-4s was nowhere to be found; only more static.

The divers, oblivious, slowly motored towards the ship that didn't exist, 
towards an ancient time in the past, a time of pirates and bullion and 
ships full of unchronicled men who were no one's ancestors. They swarmed 
over the ship like barnacles, and slowly converged on the hull. The ship 
was remarkably well preserved, and the only way into its interior was 
through the staircase that the invisible men had used themselves. As they 
grouped up to descend the staircase, Samuel Steinberg was on the internet 
looking for possible explanations for the complete interruption of 
communication underwater. As he hit the button which would take him to the 
page he was looking for, the divers descended the staircase. Steinberg 
stared, aghast, at the computer screen, hopelessly hitting the radio 
button, as the divers -- young, unattached men mostly, once again -- 
joined the realm of the never-existeds who lay in the HMS Windsor, forever 
vanished without a trace.