Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—so goes the litany as a mortal body is committed to the ground. When a ship dies there is no grave save the devouring sea. However, for a little while there is always a residue—debris, an oil slick, a streak of coal dust, an accumulation of dust and trash floating on a white canopy of air bubbles. This pattern is extensive if she sank suddenly, if catastrophe shattered her compartments, burst her bunkers open, blew her guts out.

        Then the white bubbles dissipate, and for a short time longer there is only the streak of dust and a few items of junk to mark the place. Soon that, too, is gone.

        The dust on the sea is the grave of a ship. It is only a temporary marker, but it is an indelible one to those who have seen it. And it is forever engraved on the souls of those who have had to be the cause.