"Gentlemen, there she is!" and the commander's hat sailed into the sea. A mighty cheer ... reporters and crews of seven squat salvaging ships imitated with whole coveys of whirling caps cast gayly into the surly ocean.
Then began a ponderous, contented funeral march through the waves of the Atlantic behind the slowly tugged submarine S-51, back to the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
Grim with her phantom cargo of 24 decayed sailors' bodies, unredeemed since last September, the S-51 freighted them to decent Christian burial in respectable cemeteries. Fortnight ago the Navy failed in a...