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Title: Vengeance in her Bones
Date of first publication: 1949
Author: Malcolm Jameson (1891-1945)
Date first posted: Apr. 4, 2022
Date last updated: Apr. 4, 2022
Faded Page eBook #20220406

This eBook was produced by: Al Haines

This file was produced from images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries.




[Source: Avon Fantasy Reader #10, June 1949]




_Vengeance in Her Bones_


_by Malcolm Jameson_



_The late Malcolm Jameson was a naval officer who turned to writing
after he had retired from service.  Your editor has always preferred
those stories of his that dealt with deep water over those that dealt
with deep space.  There is a verisimilitude about sea stories that
all the phony parallels about space-going navies can never attain.
The feeling all seafarers get about their ships--the animism with
which they regard them--is a real thing.  And a strange tale of the
sea is far more likely to arouse genuine reader emotion than the most
slickly bandied but irrevocably synthetic story of a moon-flying
navy._


The messenger from the recruiting office found old Captain Tolliver
in his backyard.  The crabby, sour-visaged housekeeper took him as
far as the hedge back of the house and pointed the retired mariner
out to him.  Captain Tolliver was reclining in a ragged canvas
deckchair taking the sun.  He had on faded dungarees, soft and pliant
as linen from hundreds of scrubbings, and the stump of his handless
left arm rested carelessly on his lap.  The peg-leg that matched it
lay in alignment with the one good leg.  The captain had his eyes
closed, comfortably drinking in the sun's good heat, when he heard
the crunch of the messenger's step on the gravel walk that separated
the vegetable from the flower beds.  The old skipper's hearing was
still alert, though, and at the sound he raised his lids and looked
inquiringly at the newcomer.

"Commander Jason's compliments, sir," said the bluejacket, "and would
you please step down to the office.  He has a ship for you."

Captain Tolliver smiled feebly, then he closed his eyes against the
glare.  His eyes were not overstrong these days--the doctors had said
something about incipient cataracts.

"Commander Jason is confusing me with my son.  He already has a ship,
working out of West Coast ports.  My sea-going days are over.
Forever."

To emphasize his point he waved the stump of his left arm, and lifted
the pegleg slightly.

"No, sir.  It's you he wants.  He was very clear about that.  He has
a ship that only you can command.  She's a rogue.  They say she will
obey no other skipper.  He says they have waived your physical
defects and will give you all the help you need.  But they've got to
have you."

The captain shook his head.

"He's wrong, I say.  There is no such a ship.  There was one once,
but she rotted her life away in the back channel.  They sold her
finally to a wrecking company and broke her up for scrap.  All I have
to say to that is whoever bought that scrap had better have a care as
to how they use it.  For she was a vindictive wench.  The _Sadie
Saxon_ bore grudges and would have her way no matter what you did...."

"Yes, sir," said the messenger, eagerly, "that's the ship--the _Sadie
Saxon_--a cargo type vessel!  They've put her back in commission but
she won't leave port.  They need ships now that America is at war.
Every ship.  That's why they need you.  The commander says please
come.  If you want, he'll send an ambulance."

"The _Sadie Saxon_," whispered the old captain, suddenly rapt with
nostalgia for World War days when he and she were in their prime.

Then aloud, "He needn't bother about the ambulance.  I can get there
under my own power, son.  Give me a hand so I can get up and go
dress.  The old uniform still fits, thank God."

Captain Tolliver's senility seemed to drop from him as a cloak the
moment the well-worn blue garments were back on his lean frame.  He
looked a little ruefully at the tarnished gold lace on the sleeves
and at the cap device the years had tinted with green mold, but
nevertheless he brushed the uniform carefully, squared his shoulders,
and marched down the steps without availing himself of the sailor's
proffered arm.

"So they didn't break her up after all?" said the captain, as they
waited at the curb in the hope a cruising taxi would come by.  "How
come?  I know she was sold."

"Too expensive.  She was part of a contract for scrap to be sent to
the Japs some months ago, but they only worked three days on her.
She killed nine men the first day they brought their cutting torches
aboard, all of them in different ways.  One of her booms crashed down
the second day and smashed five others.  On the third day seven
suffocated in a hold, and two slipped and fell overboard.  The men
said she was jinxed and threatened to call a strike.  So they put a
tug alongside and hauled her back to her old berth."

Captain Tolliver chuckled.

"For the Japs, huh?  She knew it even before they attacked Pearl
Harbor, but I might have told 'em.  But what's this about her
_refusing_ to leave port.  Doesn't that sound a little silly to you?"

His faded old eyes twinkled when he asked the question.  It was one
that did sound silly, when a person came to think about it.  Yet he
knew it was not silly and one an experienced sailorman would answer
as seriously as he could.

"There's no other word for it, sir," replied the bluejacket, soberly.
"She was refitted at Newport News, given a crew and loaded with
cargo.  They look her out to make a voyage to Spanish Morocco, loaded
with grain and automobile tires.  But she wouldn't pass the Thimble.
Her rudder jammed and she piled up hard, and at high tide, too.  It
took four days to pull her off.  They took her back to the yard and
looked her steering gear over.  It was okay.  So they started her out
again.  That time she sheered out to the other side and grounded near
Willoughby Spit.  The third time they tried to take her out, she
piled up in the dredged channel and blocked all shipping for hours.
The yard still insisted there was nothing wrong with her steering
gear and suspected sabotage--

"I know," said the captain.  "They didn't find any evidence of it."

"That's right.  They gave her crew a clean bill of health and ordered
to sea once more.  She won't budge.  She had steam up and stood a
good dock trial, but once she was out in the stream her propellers
quit turning over--"

"With full throttle, of course," remarked Captain Tolliver calmly.

"Yes, sir.  With full pressure in the boilers and throttle wide open.
All she would do was drift until she banged into a dock.

"The tugs got hold of her and tied her up again.  The engineers swear
her engines are all right and there is no reason why she won't run.
She just won't--that's all."

A taxi rounded the corner and caught the sailor's hail.  As it slid
to a stop before them the captain made one final remark.

"I see.  They looked up her record and found she was always that way.
Except when I had command of her.  Well, I know what is on that
little tub's mind and what to do about.  It won't be orthodox, but if
they want her in service it is the only way."

"What's that, sir."

"Give her her head," said the old man cryptically, then stiffly
climbed into the cab.

It was a week later that Captain Tolliver arrived at Norfolk Navy
Yard.  An aide of the admiral in charge of transport took him to the
dock where she lay.  She looked spick and span and new and a
painter's stage swung under her near bow, and was to play her part in
keeping supplies going Eastward in spite of havoc to the West.
Tolliver climbed up onto it with some difficulty and patted one of
the shiny plates of her nose.

"Up to your old tricks, eh, Sadie?" the astonished aide heard him
say.  "Well, everything's going to be all right now.  We'll go
hunting together."

Was it the wash of a passing tug that caused her to bob suddenly up
and down that way?  The aide shrugged his shoulders and was glad he
was in the regular outfit.  He would hate to have to go to sea
through the war zone on a rogue ship under the command of a decrepit
and senile madman of a skipper.

"I am ready to take over," announced Tolliver when he was back on the
dock, "whenever those three men whose names I gave you have been
replaced by others more acceptable."

"Acceptable to whom, sir?  I repeat that they are loyal American
citizens despite their German ancestry.  They have been investigated
fully."

"Acceptable to me as representative of the ship," answered the
captain with all his old dignity.  "When they are off we sail.  Not
before.  Perhaps it is prejudice--Sadie's funny that way--perhaps
your investigation was not as comprehensive as you think.  That's
your problem."

The aide laughed.  The old lunatic, he thought, but I'm stuck I
guess.  They said give him anything he asked for.

"Very well, sir," was what he said out loud.

Captain Tolliver waited patiently beside the bow until the last of
the three scowling men had come down it laden with their bags and
dunnage.  Then he mounted to the deck and went straightway to the
bridge.  His hand reached for the whistle pull.  A long, triumphant
scream of a blast split the air.

"Stand by your lines," bellowed the old man through a megaphone, "and
tell the tug never mind.  We won't need her."

Two hours later the _Sadie Saxon_ swept through the dredged channel,
picked up and passed the entrance buoy to the bay.  Throbbing with
the vibration of her churning screws and rising and falling to the
heavy swell outside, she shook herself joyfully at the smell and feel
of the open sea.  Cape Henry and Cape Charles Lights soon faded
behind.  The Captain set a course for Bermuda, for the ship's orders
had been changed.  After the long delay in setting out the situation
was different.  She was to rendezvous with a Gibraltar bound convoy
at the island.

Mate Parker came up to take the watch.  It was a cloudy, dark night
and the ship was running without lights.

"Keep a sharp lookout," warned the captain, "and handle things
yourself.  I don't want to be called unless something extraordinary
occurs."

"Aye, sir," acknowledged the mate surlily.  By rights he should be
the skipper of this cranky tub--not this doddering old fool.

The captain got down the ladder the best way he could and groped
along the darkened decks until he came to the door of his room.  He
did not undress at all but lay down in his bunk as he was.  The
_Sadie Saxon_ could be counted on to do the unexpected at any time.
He closed his eyes wearily, for the excitement of the day had taxed
his strength to the utmost.  In a moment he was fast asleep.

It must have been well after midnight when he was roused from his
deep slumber.  Mr. Parker was standing over him with a look of
concern on his face.

"She's gone crazy again, sir," he reported, "and we can't do a thing
with her--"

"Don't try," directed the captain.  "What's she doing?"

"Turned sharp to the left about fifteen minutes ago and is turning up
about twelve revolutions more than her proper speed.  The helmsman
can't do anything about it.  Neither can the engineer.  She won't
obey her wheel or throttle.  What do we do--fold up and call it a
day?"

Captain Tolliver sat up in his bunk.

"Oh, no.  By no means.  You'll be awfully busy shortly.  Turn out all
hands at once.  Man your lifeboats and have them ready for lowering.
Shut all watertight doors below and see that there is plenty of
shoring handy in case the peak gets stove in.  Have the collision mat
ready.  That's all."

"But the steering?"

"Just let the wheel go.  She'll steer herself.  She knows where she
wants to go.  I don't."

The mate left and the old man dragged himself to his mismated feet
and began the laborious journey to the bridge.  Once he was up there
he made sure that the searchlight was ready to turn on in case he
needed it.  After that he could only wait.

The wait was not long.  Fifteen minutes later there was a shock, a
grinding, bumping of something under the fore-foot and along the
keel.  The ship's engines stopped abruptly, then began backing.
Captain Tolliver reached for the engine room telegraph and rang it to
"Stop."

The ship stopped.

"Collision forward!" shouted the lookout in the bow.  "We just ran
down a small ship of some sort."

Tolliver could hear the boatswain and his gang dropping into the fore
hold to see whether the damage was serious.  Then he spoke quietly to
the mate who was on the bridge beside him.

"You may put your boats in the water now, Mister.  I have a hunch we
just ran down a Nazi sub.  I'll put on the light as soon as you are
lowered."

The mate left on the run, more mystified than ever.  A man came up
from forward and reported the peak was full up to the waterline but
the bulkhead abaft it was holding and the ship seemed to be in no
danger.

"Turn on that searchlight," ordered Captain Tolliver, "and sweep aft."

There was a chorus of gasps as the light stabbed out into the murk
and almost instantly lit on a large black object rearing up above the
waves.  It was the bow of a submarine, and even as they sighted it it
slid backwards into the deep.  But in that brief glimpse they saw
several men plunge overboard, and as the light swept to right and
left the bobbing heads of a dozen or more men could be seen in the
water.

"Pick up those men and be smart about it," yelled Tolliver through
his megaphones to the boats.  Then he watched as they dragged the
survivors into the boats and rowed back to the ship.  He watched as
they hoisted the boats in and housed them at their davits.

"Put those men under guard," he directed, "and get back on your
course.  Things will be all right now."  And with that he went below
to pick up his night's sleep where he had left off.

The arrival of the _Sadie Saxon_ at Bermuda caused quite a stir.
Many were the congratulations upon the ship's luck in blundering
across a U-boat and ramming it in the dark.  The two officers and
eleven men rescued from the crash were most welcome to the British
Intelligence officers.  Hasty arrangements were made for quick
repairs to the ship's damaged bow.  She had missed the convoy for
which she was intended, but there would be other convoys and the
little delay was well paid for by the bag of the under-sea wolf.
Captain Tolliver took his praise modestly.

"It's not all luck," he said.  "It is a habit of the _Sadie Saxon_.
If you will look up her record in the last war you will see she has
done that sort of thing before."

By the time the ship was ready for sea again the hubbub had died
down.  Captain Tolliver took the position assigned him with entire
calm and confidence.  It was a big convoy and made up of three
columns of ships.  The _Sadie Saxon_ was given the post of danger and
honor as the lead ship of the right-hand column.  But destroyers
frolicked about ahead and on the flanks.  It would be costly for any
submarine to tackle that well-guarded flotilla.

For three nights they went eastward, steaming without lights and in
formation.  There was no alarm other than the appearance overhead one
day of a trio of scout bombers marked with the black and white
crosses of Germany.  The anti-aircraft guns of the escorting warships
kept them at too great a height to do any damage, and so drove them
away.  But after their appearance old Captain Tolliver knew anything
might happen.  The _Sadie Saxon_ had behaved most peculiarly all the
while they were in sight, vibrating almost as if she had dropped a
screw.

"Steady, old girl," whispered the skipper into the binnacle, "you'll
have to get used to those.  They're an innovation."

It was the night after that that the big attack occurred.  The long
triple column of ships was plowing along through a dark and misty
night and thirty officers on as many bridges were staring anxiously
into the murk striving not to lose sight of the tiny blue stern light
of the ship ahead.  Under the circumstances mutual collision was much
more likely than a hostile attack.  The orders were strict--maintain
radio silence at all costs, never show a light under any
circumstances, and above all, keep station.

But the _Sadie Saxon_ cared next to nothing about commodore's orders.
At ten minutes past four in the morning she balked, her engines
churning violently at full speed astern, to the consternation of the
black gang who had had no bells to that effect and were caught off
guard.  Captain Tolliver was on the bridge when it happened and
called sharply to the forward lookouts:

"Look sharply close aboard!  What do you see?"

The ship was turning rapidly to starboard, her rudder jammed hard
over, while the helmsman strove wildly to bring the wheel back the
other way.

"The wakes of two torpedoes, sir--no, four--five--nine!  Coming from
starboard, sir."

The streaks of phosphorescent light were visible now from the bridge.
The _Sadie Saxon_ was turning straight into them; she would pass
safely between a pair of them.

The aged skipper acted with an alacrity that surprised even him.  He
yelled for the searchlight and with his own hand pulled the whistle
into a strident blast of warning.  The searchlight came on and threw
its beam straight ahead.  There, in a line, were three gray conning
towers--three submarines on the surface and in fairly close
formation.  The nearest destroyer saw them too and at once plunged
toward them with its guns blazing.  Geysers of white water shot up
about the nearest one.  A couple of seconds later a bright flash told
of a six-inch hit squarely at the base of a conning tower.  The other
two subs were diving hard, but the one that was hit did not dive.  Or
did not dive the regular way.  It rolled slowly over toward the
_Sadie Saxon_, spilling frantic men from its torn superstructure,
then settled to its grave.

The leading freighter of the middle column suddenly blew up with a
bang, lighting up the sea like day.  A moment later the second ship
of the left-hand column burst into flames.  At least two of the nine
torpedoes fired had found a mark.  But the subs that fired them had
no opportunity to fire more.  They had been ambushed in their own
ambush, and already three destroyers were racing back and forth over
the spots where they had last been seen and dropping depth-charges by
the score.  Similar activities were going on on the other side.
Apparently there had been other subs waiting there as well.

The _Sadie Saxon_ lay still where she was until the survivors of the
two ships destroyed had been brought on board.  Then she
unaccountably turned due south and ran for an hour at full speed.
There she stopped and refused to budge another yard.  It was well
past the dawn then and a destroyer could be seen on the horizon
behind still searching for vestiges of their attackers.

"Signal that destroyer," the captain said, "and tell him to come over
here.  We've got one spotted."

The destroyer came up within hail, and its captain delivered a
blistering message through what must have been an asbestos-lined
megaphone.

"Will the second on that ship kindly relieve that blithering idiot in
command and put him under arrest?  The--"

"The sub's right under me," Tolliver yelled back, "playing possum a
hundred feet or so down."  The ship started moving ahead.  "Come in
and drop your eggs.  Then lock me up if you want."

He turned to Parker who was in a quandary as to what to do.  The
performances of the ship had shaken his nerve.  He had begun to
wonder whether _he_ was the crazy man.  Tolliver ignored him.
Instead he walked out to the wing of the bridge and watched the
destroyer do its work.

Huge seething hummocks of water rose as the ash-cans exploded under
the surface.  Four of them had gone off and the destroyer was coming
back for a second run across the same spot.  But there was no need.
A half mile away a black nose appeared for a moment on the surface,
stuck its beak up into the air, then with a loud hissing of escaping
air fell back weakly into the water.  Where it had been were three
bobbing heads.  There _had_ been a sub under there!

"Thanks," flashed the destroyer, "well done.  Rejoin convoy."

They went past Gib without stopping and made the hazardous trip to
Alexandria without incident other than a few sporadic and ineffectual
raids by enemy aircraft.  At Alexandria Captain Tolliver found this
message waiting for him; it was from ONI.

"_You are a better guesser than some of our experts.  The three men
you tipped us off to are in jail.  They planned to seize the ship and
divert it to a Norwegian port.  Congratulations._"

The skipper gave a brief snort and then crammed the message into a
pocket with his one good hand.  Then he learned that on the voyage
home he was to carry the convoy's commodore.  The "commodore," a
retired Navy captain, came aboard and looked around.

He did not say much until they were out of the Mediterranean and well
to the west of Portugal.  By then they had been joined by many other
ships and were steaming in a formation much like the one before, with
the difference that this time, being flagship, they were more nearly
in the middle of the flotilla.

"You seem to have a remarkable ability to spot submarines, Captain,"
he remarked.  "What is your secret?"

"Me?" said the skipper indignantly.  "Hell, I can't see a submarine
in the dark or under water any farther than the next man.  All the
credit is due to Sadie.  She _smells_ 'em.  She hates 'em, too."

"Yes.  I know.  She rammed several in the last war, didn't she?  And
didn't they make her into a Q-ship?"

"She did.  She was.  If you'll look down there on the pedestal of the
binnacle stand you'll see some file marks.  There are fourteen of 'em
now.  Each one stands for a U-boat.  Or raider.  I tell you, she
don't like Germans.  She was a German herself, you know, but they
didn't treat her right.  She has a grievance."

"Now, Captain," laughed the commodore, "don't you think you are
carrying your little joke too far?  After all..."

"Do you know the story of this ship?" asked Tolliver fiercely, "well,
listen."

It was close to midnight then and a bright moon was shining.  The
silhouettes of the ships about were distinct as black masses against
the glittering white-kissed sea.  The two officers went on talking,
but their eyes were steadfastly kept ahead.  This was a night when
anything might happen.

"In 1911 this ship was spanking new.  She was the _Koenigen von
Sachsen_ or something of the sort, freshly turned out of the Vulcan
Works at Stettin.  The outbreak of the war caught her at Hoboken and
they tied her up for the duration.  But when we joined the war in '17
and took her over, her innards were something pitiful to see.  Her
crew had dry-fired her boilers and they were a mass of sagging tubes.
The vandals cracked her cylinders with sledges, threw the valve gear
and cylinder heads overboard, and messed up all the auxiliaries.
They fixed the wiring so it would short the moment juice was put on
it, and they took down steam leads and inserted steel blanks between
the flanged joints.  In other places they drove out rivets and
replaced them with ones of putty.  I tell you she was dynamite, even
after they fixed up the boilers and main machinery.

"Naturally, having a thing like that done to you would make you
sore--especially if you were young and proud and the toast of the
Imperial German merchant marine.  But that was not all.  On her first
trip across--I was mate then--a sub slammed a torp into her off the
north of Ireland and it took her stern away.  Luckily she didn't sink
and another ship put a hawser on us and worried us into Grennock
where they fixed her up.  That would have been bad enough, but on the
trip home she smacks into a submarine-laid mine off the Delaware
Capes and blows in her bow.  We had to beach her near Cape May.

"They rebuilt her again and we set out.  But her hard-luck--or
mistreatment rather--wasn't at an end.  In those days our Secret
Service wasn't as good as it is now and a saboteur got aboard.  He
gummed up things pretty bad.  So bad that we caught afire and almost
sank in mid-ocean.  It took some doggoned hard work to save that
ship, but help came and we stayed afloat.  Well, that was the end of
her patience.  She went hog-wild.  After that, no matter whether she
was in convoy or not, whenever, anything that was German was
around--sub, torpedo, raider or what not--she went after it, and
never mind engine room bells or rudder.  Her whimsies cost me a hand
and a leg before we were through, but I didn't mind.  I figured I
could take it if she could.

"She broke the hearts of three captains.  A lot of captains, you
ought to know, object to having the ship take charge.  They said she
was unmanageable and chucked their jobs.  That left me in command,
though at the time I didn't rate the job.  Knowing something of her
history, I knew better than to interfere.  Her hunches are the best
thing I know.  No matter what she does..."

"Hey!" yelled the commodore, thoroughly alarmed, "watch what you're
doing."

The _Sadie Saxon_ had sheered sharply from her course and was heading
directly across the bows of a ship in the column to one side of them.
It was too late then, even if the _Sadie_ had been tractable, to do
anything about it.  A collision was inevitable.  The commodore
reached for the whistle pull, but Tolliver grabbed his arm and held
it.

"Wait," he urged, "this means something.  I know her."

An angry, guttural shout came from the bridge of the ship whose path
they were about to cross.  Then came the rending crash as steel bit
into steel--thousands of tons of it at twelve knots speed.  The other
ship had rammed the _Sadie Saxon_ just abreast the mainmast and she
heeled over sharply, spilling deck gear over the off rail.  At once
pandemonium reigned in the convoy as ships behind sheered out to
avoid compounding the already serious collision.

At once fresh confusion succeeded.  The ship that was the victim of
the _Sadie's_ caprice suddenly dropped her false bulwarks and the
moonlight glinted off the barrels of big guns both fore and aft.
Harsh orders sounded in German and the guns began spitting fire.
Shells began bursting against ships on all sides as the raider that
had insinuated itself into the midst of the convoy began its work.
Escort ships began dashing toward the scene, worming their way
through the scattering freighters so as to get to a spot where they
could open fire.

"I told you," said Captain Tolliver, serenely.  "You can always trust
her."

But she was sinking, and the crew were lowering what boats they
could.  The commodore was one of the first to leave, since he was in
charge of the entire expedition and must transfer his flag to a
surviving ship.  Tolliver stayed behind.  There was not room enough
in the boats for one thing, and his faith in the durability of the
_Sadie Saxon_ was unlimited.  He had seen her in worse plight many
times before.

The raider had succeeded in backing away, but it, too, was in a
perilous condition.  Her bows were torn wide open and she was fast
going down by the head.  She continued to fire viciously at
everything within reach, paying especial attention to the crippled
_Sadie Saxon_.  A shell struck her funnel and threw fragments and
splinters onto the bridge.  One fragment struck Captain Tolliver in
the right thigh and he went down with a brief curse.  Another pair of
projectiles burst aft among the rest of the crew who were engaged in
freeing a life raft from the mainmast shrouds.  It must have killed
them all, for when shortly afterward a destroyer ranged alongside and
hailed, there was no answering cry.

Tolliver hauled himself to the wing of the bridge and managed to cut
an opening in the weather screen.  He looked out just in time to see
the flaming remnants of the raider sink under the moon-tipped waves.
The freighters had all gone and the destroyers were charging off in a
new direction.  Apparently submarines, working in conjunction with
the camouflaged raider, had made their appearance.  Tolliver watched
a moment, then was aware of a growing faintness.  His leg must be
bleeding more than he thought.  In a moment everything turned black.

It was broad daylight when he came to again.  Another peep showed him
an empty ocean.  The convoy must have gone on, as it was proper and
correct it should.  And then he heard the burr and roar of airplanes
overhead.  They swooped low, machine-gunning the decks systematically
on the assumption men were still aboard.  One, more daring than the
rest, swooped in between the masts.  _Sadie Saxon_ was trembling in
every plate and rivet.

"Steady, girl," murmured the now delirious captain, laying his cheek
against the bridge deck and patting it gently with his one hand, "you
can't handle those, I know.  But we've done enough, you and I.  We
can't keep afloat forever."

Her answer was typical.  He had no way of knowing how deep she was in
the water, or what her trim, but she heeled violently to port--hung
there a moment, then turned quietly over on her side.  The instant
she chose to do it was just as the daring raider plane was diving
beneath her radio antennae, ready to drop its final bomb.  Captain
Tolliver heard its wings snap off and its body crash as the whipping,
heeling mast struck it.  There was a final burst of flame, and the
rest was cool, green water.  The old sea-dog felt the waves close
over him, but he was smiling and content.

"Bless her old heart," was his last thought, "she even got one of
_those_."


[The end of _Vengeance in her Bones_ by Malcolm Jameson]