SMFC General P. Douglas, Navy, MIA, Newcomb, TN, 23, 25, 26 JAN 08 > Patriot Guard Forums - Americans Doing the Right Thing

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Subject: SMFC General P. Douglas, Navy, MIA, Newcomb, TN, 23, 25, 26 JAN 08

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Jer's

Posts: 121
White Lake, Mi.

17 Jan 2008 11:00 PM	Alert
All these years and finally a ride home. What a story. Sincerest condolences to the family and friends of 1st Class General P. Douglas and may the Lord grant this family the peace and strength to deal with the days ahead. Finally home and able to rest in peace.

Jer's US Navy Veteran USS Daniel A. Joy DE 585 Pax River NATC USS Franklin D. Roosevelt CVA 42 1960-1966 Life Member VFW Post 4156 Vice President Oakland County Veterans Group

mac304dutch User is Offline

Posts: 609
PGR Ride Captain Hope Mills, NC

18 Jan 2008 8:09 AM	Alert
May the family and friends of Seaman 1st Class General P. Douglas find solace in having your Hero home. My condolences to you all.

John "Dutch" Macomber USA 1989 - 1995 NCNG 2000 - 2001 USAFR 2001 - 2004 "War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight; nothing he cares about more than his own personal safety; is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself" John Stewart Mill

T-Bone

Posts: 2779
Georgia

19 Jan 2008 5:51 AM	Alert
My condolences to the family and friends of this Great American hero, may you finally rest in Peace. Welcome Home Soldier and Thank you for your Service to our Country and our Freedom. I Salute You. T-Bone

T-Bone and Keepher West Side Waffle House Gang US Army Security Agency 1965-69 May we NEVER FORGET THE PRICE OF FREEDOM, and those WHO PAID THAT PRICE.... Ga PGR,... Part of It, Proud of It!

Susan Sturgis User is Offline

Posts: 7186
Bear, DE
In Memory of Ed "Old Iron" Barrett

FORUM MODERATOR

19 Jan 2008 12:42 PM	Alert
UPDATE: Escort information.

BootLady #34204 TOU Enforcement Agent "In God We Still Trust" Diamond Rio - Diamond Rio's Greatest Hits II "You may die with nothing, but if you have brought a rainbow into somebody else's life, your mission is complete."

mlmsan

Posts: 6930
Loganville, Georgia 30052

19 Jan 2008 10:17 PM	Alert
My deepest, heartfelt condolences to the Family and Friends of Charlie Brown, Viet Nam Vet/PGR member. We thank you for your sacrifice, we are a grateful nation. May your pain be tempered in the knowledge that Seaman 1st Class General P. Douglas, U.S. Navy, is a True American Hero and He will Never be Forgotten. General, you can stand down now, you have served many missions on many fields. It is now your time to rest. We will stand Your watch. God bless you and keep you safe in His arms. Peace be with us all. Big Bear

"The will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you". Larry "Sir Bear" & "Queen Mary" Sanderson sirbear@comcast.net 770-500-6895 Georgia PGR, Part of It, Proud of it. Georgia Mentor Team U.S Navy Vietnam - 66/67 USS Franklin D. Roosevelt CVA 42 Blue Star Dad Patriot Guard Rider VFW Post 5290, Conyers GVVA Post 5,Conyers Riding In Memory of my Great Grand Father, John Perry Sanderson, Texas Calvary Regiment, Civil War. Father, PO1 Weldon A. Sanderson, WWII USN, Pacific Fleet. And in Honor of my Son, SSGT Michael W. Sanderson, Gulf, 2x Iraq, and Mt. Sinai, Egypt. U.S. Army now serving this Nation Proudly in Fort Benning, Georgia.

AZCraig

Posts: 607
AZ Ride Captain Mesa, AZ

20 Jan 2008 1:46 AM	Alert
Welcome Home shipmate! Fair winds and following seas. Thank you for your service. An American Hero is home!

Craig Smith Tatonka USN Corpsman '90 -'95 I ride for my grandfather - WWII Navy In union there is strength. ~Aesop

diamondice2000 User is Offline

Posts: 132
Lake Norman NC

20 Jan 2008 9:12 AM	Alert
I would like to offer my sincere condolences to the family and friends of Seaman 1st Class General P. Douglas. Welcome home General, and Thank You for your service. Rest in Peace Sailor. Respectfully, Diamondice2000 Blue Star Mom Proud Navy Mom

With Honor and Respect, Proud Navy Mom

jacksboro kid User is Offline

Posts: 3

20 Jan 2008 6:30 PM	Alert
Our condolences to the family. We are glad your wait is over. Prayers are on the way. Jim and Joy Robinson. Member of Campbell County Honor Guard, and member of the patriot guard.

ROBERTRPEARMAN User is Offline

Posts: 5264
WASHINGTON HEIGHTS, NY

22 Jan 2008 2:30 AM	Alert
OUR DEEPEST SYMPATHY AND CONDOLENCES TO THE FAMILY AND FRIENDS OF WWII MIA SMFC GENERAL P DOUGLAS USN. OUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU. WELCOME HOME AND REST IN PEACE GENERAL. ROBERT AND JUANITA

YOU ARE NEVER REALLY GONE UNTIL YOU ARE FORGOTTEN ROBERT R PEARMAN US AIR FORCE 1961 - 1965 AMERICAN LEGION VIETNAM VETERANS OF AMERICA PATRIOT GUARD RIDERS

t2tinc

Posts: 17

26 Jan 2008 5:48 PM	Alert
The crack of the rifle salute Makes one flinch at the first sound Honor for sacrifice Dual bugles playing taps Echoing off the steep hillsides and down the valleys of home You are home, sailor Home from the seas We bow our heads We wipe a tear We honor you Respectfully, themasterchief

81WideGlide User is Offline

Posts: 0

27 Jan 2008 12:04 PM	Alert
He was born on the 26th of July in 1922 in Newcomb, Tennessee to Walter and Bertha Douglas. Nineteen years, four months, and twenty-two days later, he joined the Navy. Ten short days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. And the ship that he would soon be a member of, a great and powerful ship, that was sitting at Mare Island being repaired from that same bombing attack on Pearl Harbor. On that fateful day in December of 1941, Japanese bombers attacked Pearl Harbor. Sitting in that harbor was the USS Helena hull number CL-50. The Helena was there that Sunday morning. In fact she was their number one naval target. The Japanese did not mean her to be, of course. Their principal objective was that of the battleship Pennsylvania, flagship of the fleet. Some of their pilots, shot down that day, were found to be carrying charts upon which the position of the Pennsylvania was marked with a red arrow. But the flagship had been moved into dry-dock for an overhauling, and it was the Helena’s hard luck to be where the queen of the fleet was supposed to be. Those red arrows on the Japanese maps pointed straight to the Helena. Bombs had been falling on Hickam Field for about five minutes when the first enemy torpedo planes swept in over Ford Island to strike at the harbor. The Japanese sped across the channel in close, low formation and loosened their torpedoes. Their aim was not particularly good. With a little of the right kind of luck, the Helena might have escaped damage. All but one of the torpedoes fired in that first swift attack missed the mark by comfortable margins. That one torpedo, correctly aimed but released from a poor angle of approach, should by all logic have hit an ancient wooden mine-sweeper, the Oglala, moored directly in its path. But it didn’t. It freakishly slipped under the Oglala and continued, on course, to explode in Helena’s forward engine room. So tremendous was the blast that the Oglala, untouched by the torpedo itself, turned turtle and sank with her wooden bottom completely crushed by the under-water concussion. Later she was raised and repaired. That torpedo was the first to hit Pearl Harbor, and the Helena, despite her wounds, was the first cruiser in the fleet to give the Japanese bombers an answer. While officers and men struggled with the dead and wounded in her demolished engine room, the ship’s anti-aircraft guns defiantly blazed away. Like the rest of Pearl Harbor, the Helena was caught by surprise, but she recovered quickly and almost at once was furiously fighting back. It has been told throughout the years, that the Japanese thought that the American’s had developed a six-inch machine gun. Because in one minute and six seconds the Helena had her boilers fired and were firing back at the Japanese. Those six inch guns were firing so fast, that this is where the Japanese thought that we had come up with this super weapon. When, in fact, it was the heart of the Helena, her very own trusted men that were fighting back. She was an angry ship. A warship is a personal thing, not a mass of inanimate steel. It is made of men and moods, loyalties and friendships. The Japanese could not with impunity do what they had done to those men in the Helena’s engine room. The ship’s gunners, trained by Lieutenant Commander Duke, went to work to even the score. “Ordinary guys” got blazing mad and were heroes. Several days later, when it was all over, the Japanese were gone. The torpedo planes had crippled the fleet and fled, and the last bomb had long since burst on Hickam Field. Pearl Harbor picked itself out of the rubble and dazedly took stock. The Helena and other ships of the fleet cleared away their wreckage and looked at their wounds. The Helena’s luck had been both good and bad. Bad, because the torpedo which had hit her should, by all rights, have hit the Oglala instead. Good, because a hit of such magnitude in her forward engine room should have sunk her – and it hadn’t. Her engine room casualty list was long – more than forty men killed and a hundred others seriously injured – and in later attacks still more of her men had been hurt by bomb fragments on deck. But the angry breath of her guns had kept the Japanese at bay and burned six, probably seven, enemy planes from the sky. Could the ship be repaired? Her engineering officer, Commander Elmer C. Buerkle, said she could be, and no one disputed his verdict. Commander Buerkle knew the Helena as well as any other man aboard her. Perhaps even a little better. He loved every inch of her, and his energy knew no bounds. It was not a pleasure trip. Even the weather took a back-handed slap at the battered ship and piled up mountainous seas for her to buck. But her engineers swarmed over the patched-up engine, holding it together with injections of sweat and Helena spirit. Commander Buerkle went without sleep to watch over his patient. The Helena made port at Mare Island. It was, most likely, at this time that Seaman First Class General Preston Douglas came on board to be a part of a proud family of men with their mother, the Helena, under their feet. When she stood out from Mare Island six months later, the Helena bore no scars of her Pearl Harbor experience. Except for the drabness of her new war dress, she was the same sleek cruiser which had been commissioned in New York in 1939. Many of her personnel were new, but they were Helena men now, their loyalties established, and spirits high. Her new assignment was to convoy a detachment of Seabees to the South Seas and escort an aircraft carrier rushing planes to the Pacific war front. The Battle for the Solomons, a three-dimensional conflict of unprecedented fury, began on August 7th, 1942. And round-two of the Solomon campaign was Japanese also. The price was the aircraft carrier Wasp, sunk by enemy torpedoes on September 15th. The Helena was deep in the South Pacific then. Her trip from a West Coast port had been uneventful, and upon discharging her convoy duties she had been ordered to make two quick runs to Guadalcanal. With that being done, she was then assigned to the task force in which the Wasp was operating. She was there when the Wasp died. And so was Preston Douglas. That tragic day in September, the Wasp and her escorting warships – the Helena included – were cruising the Coral Sea, awaiting an expected Japanese attack upon Guadalcanal. Reports indicated that an enemy naval attack was imminent. The Wasp and her escorts were ready for action. But the enemy encountered by the Allied force was no a surface foe; it was a submarine pack which lay in wait for the carrier and attacked with torpedoes, without warning. There was no battle. Mortally hit by three torpedoes, the year-and-a-half-old carrier burst into flames and was torn by her own internal explosions. Beyond saving, she was given the coup de grâce by her own destroyers. It was the second time the Helena in her brief career had seen death and destruction wrought on by Japanese torpedoes. She stood by now, in peril of being torpedoed herself, to take aboard survivors. Grim in the presence of death and awed by the spectacle of a mighty ship in flames, her men broke open their sea bags and passed out clothing to the rescued. There was little extra space aboard the Helena as she turned about and made for a South Seas base. Her own men, including Preston, numbered nearly twelve hundred, and with more than four hundred of the Wasp’s crew jammed into her cabins and passageways, elbow room was at a premium. And that old hatred for the Japanese, born at Pearl Harbor and smoldering silently ever since, now flared anew. The Helena craved action. Preston and the rest of her men talked of little else and prayed for the day when the ship’s guns would set their words into music. The enemy was rampant. The Helena had not fired a shot since Pearl Harbor. The Helena then supplied escorts for other ships and other skirmishes throughout the South Seas. In this report we’ll jump to the fateful day when Preston and the Helena were in trouble. The Helena was tense again, on tiptoe. It was felt all round, on foc’sle and quarterdeck, throughout the entire ship. A giant fist was doubling up, knuckles whitening for combat. Turbines and men vibrated together. As they passed Guadalcanal with the sun setting redly into her 9000-foot peaks, how many more times, if ever, should Preston and the men of the Helena see that familiar shoreline again. They had a hatred for the island once. For months it had been a background for violent actions in which the Helena had played a major role. No man had ever expressed a yearning to see Guadalcanal again. Now the hated island was a symbol of security, the most familiar and therefore the most profound symbol they possessed. Preston and the men watched in silence as the ship steamed westward, past Savo, past the Russell Islands. The weather had roughened; the sky was overcast and dark. Preston and the men of the Helena wanted that. Darkness was a thing they had prayed for often on those moonlit nights in Kula Gulf! Now, with all the information in hand and the entire ship informed that they were moving up the Slot to New Georgia again, there was time for a little relaxation. In the interior and exterior areas of the ship, men were thumbing through worn pages of the little Bibles that most carried. Toughened old seadogs, veterans of many a battle and many a crap game, were unashamedly praying. Some listened with solemn concentration while others read aloud. Afraid? The Helena had never been afraid. This was just the usual pre-battle scene, although that day, more were more usually aware of it. By ten p.m. the order had been given to dog all doors and stand by. Preston and the men went to their battle stations. In a total blackout, now the ship rushed on through the night, following the broad, boiling wake of a cruiser ahead. All the equipment was manned, all radio frequencies were covered. Information was flowing in like water in a leaky tub. At eleven p.m. the supply officers furnished refreshments to Preston and the men of the Helena. There were apples, oranges, cups of steaming black coffee, and casual conversations involving the speculations of the Helena’s luck. It was hard to believe that young men, such as Preston, who by now is a mere 20 or 21 years of age, were already veteran boys, successful in two difficult night engagements previously, and only having been out of boot camp the year before. But the Helena had always been a proud ship, flushed with confidence. Preston, and the men of the Helena, thought back to the pageant that unrolled behind them, and how it was brilliant and yet bloody. The Battle of Cape Esperance, the Battle of Guadalcanal, Munda, Vila, Enogai Inlet, Bairoko Harbor, Rich Anchorage. In that year-long struggle with the enemy in the Solomons, all of which Preston was a part of, the Helena had slugged it out with every foe she encountered, and had sent more than her share of Japanese warships to the bottom. Fear encompassed the ship. That kind of fear is good for a man; it keeps him alert, shakes out the mental cobwebs. They’re scared because they’ve seen brave ships go down, and seen men swimming over their graves. They remember the Wasp and the Hornet, the Juneau and the Strong, the Frisco and the Boise and many, many others that have died or been damaged. But they couldn’t turn back. Tokyo won’t be reached by turning back. That night could not last forever, even with each of its hours drawn endlessly through the teeth of tension and the Helena racing at full power through the dark in the most dramatic and nerve-tingling run of her career. The Japanese were due in. They had passed Visuvisu Point, and now from the navigating bridge came the telephoned report that they were turning into Kula Gulf. The ship held its breath as it had so often before. Kula Gulf was still Japanese, still the Solomons’ meanest trap. Anything might happen. Preston and the men were quiet. Silence moved on cat’s feet over the entire ship, thickening, solidifying, until its effect was uncanny. Then, with a calm and almost matter-of-fact voice, Lieutenant Russell Gash reported to Admiral Ainsworth that the enemy had been sighted!! No one spoke. Preston and the rest of the men who had been holding their breath let it out in unison and the sound was of a sigh of relief. The waiting was over. Quiet orders were issued as the formation of ships changed course and closed range. The admiral asked each ship if she were ready, and the replies were prompt. They had been ready for a long time. Nothing less than complete readiness would have won a victory that night for the United States Forces, for the Japanese was many and powerful. Their force included two of their newest and best heavy cruisers armed with 8-inch guns, two light cruisers, and a screen of destroyers. In all, the Japanese had between nine and eleven ships there. Their assignment was apparently to reinforce their troops at Munda and Bairoko Harbor and wipe out as many of our own ships as possible with a bombardment. Obviously they were also to patrol the gulf against further American attempts to invade it. The weather was made to order for them, but it was also good for us, the night pitch black and gusty with rain squalls which in the past had served our forces so well. Even in sheltered Kula Gulf the sea was rough and ugly. The picture then is of a powerful enemy fleet steaming down through the Slot, around the northern tip of Kolombangara Island and into the rain and darkness of Kula Gulf, while or own force, outgunned and outnumbered, sped westward to intercept them. The Japanese arrived in Kula first. They were in the gulf and heading northward, apparently having made a sweep of the area, when contact was established off the Kolombangara shore north of the Japanese base of Vila. The enemy came on, unsuspecting, in a stretched-out battle line. Admiral Ainsworth’s force, changing course quickly, swung at right angles across the Japanese route and “crossed the T.” Every ship in our under gunned group was then in position to hurl a broadside at the enemy, while the Japanese, in single file, could fire only their forward batteries and even then were in danger of hitting their own ships. The orders came from the flagship. “Prepare to attack!...Cruisers take the big ships, destroyers take their destroyers!... Stand by to fire!” And at last, at 1:58 a.m., “Commence firing!” After much firing and the Helena sinking a cruiser, and crippling a destroyer. At 2:07 a.m. the Helena had caught a Japanese torpedo. Preston and the men scampering around to get their thoughts back together. The ship had leaped into the air and dropped again and now was trembling – a curious, fluttering tremble, almost dainty, like that of a young girl frightened in the dark. Her guns still blazing, and the destroyer which had rushed in to plant the fish in her was ablaze and sinking. Preston and the men of the Helena were piled atop of one another in a fantastic heap under books and papers. The Helena’s guns had at last ceased firing and the silence was a smoldering thing that made breathing difficult. In that whole room there was but one sound: the soft and stealthy settling of dust disturbed by the torpedo’s impact. Preston and the men waited for someone to speak and break the spell – when the second and third torpedoes hit. They struck as one, so close together that the sound was a single shuddering blast. The explosion slammed the men to the deck again in the same grotesque heap. But no one cried out. The lights died. The shock had smashed the generators of the Helena and blown out the communication circuits. For a moment the men struggled in darkness to extricate themselves. Then the battle lights came on, a dim, weird glow through which the shaken dust swam redly in space. The Helena was done for. The men knew it, Preston knew it. The second explosion had cleared the minds of all and they saw clearly. But it had to be official before orders could be issued, and so some men went out to be sure. She was listing badly, her back broken. There was water over the quarterdeck, amidships. Men stood at their stations, restlessly at attention, awaiting the command to abandon ship. The ship herself, trembling in torment, struggled to warn the men that time was short. It was then, at 2:20 a.m., just thirteen minutes after the first torpedo hit. The “abandon ship” order had been given, but there was no panic, almost no noise. And now, strangely, there seemed less need for haste. Incredible things happen aboard a ship of war when she goes down. Aboard the Helena, twelve hundred men, including Preston, were thinking of themselves, their shipmates, and their ship. Some of what happened was only ridiculous. Much of it was brave. Strange things happen… That warning tremble in the ship had ceased, and there seemed to be no great hurry. Men picked their way carefully through piles of ammunition cans strewn over the deck. Others lined the rail watching the battle in the distance. Some had gone overside, and there were hundreds of heads in the sea – small white blurs bobbing about in the black night, seemingly suspended in space. It was hard to think of them as men. It was harder still to realize that the Helena was no longer in action. Beyond them the Battle of Kula Gulf raged to its climax, and the horizon was garlanded with looping streamers of fire. She was really going down fast. On the foc’sle some of the men were trying to cut away the big life rafts. They got the rafts into the water while the sea swirled in an ugly, oil whirlpool over the quarterdeck. Around the bow, where several men had jumped, the suction of the sinking ship was greatest. It gripped and clung, exerting a steady downward pull. Some men fought it, throwing their arms about, but that was not good. There was too much oil. With every gasping breath you drew the sickening stuff into your stomach, and up it came with a rush. There were hundreds of men somewhere in that crowded, night-black sea, clinging to rafts or bits of debris, floating in life belts or swimming aimlessly in the dark. The sea began bubbling, boiling, above the grave of the Helena. The men watched it, wide-eyed and alarmed. Up from the depths lurched a strange, awesome shape, a metal island all wet and gleaming, the sea pouring from its sides as it emerged. It rolled as though shaking its head; it shuddered and shook the water from its brow, and at least, sure if itself, settled down to a gentle swaying. Fifteen feet high, this gleaming thing loomed above the sea in the dark, while the sea rocked it and the waves from its resurrection rolled out to bring the men its message. It was the Helena’s bow, her white “50” proudly standing out against the wet gray steel. Down there on the floor of Kula Gulf, under forty or more fathoms, the ship had broken in two. The strakes or keel holding her together amidships had let go. This much of her – a ship’s spirit proudly encased in steel and bravely holding a lot her identifying numerals – had returned to comfort her men. They were not alone. Ringed about her bow, the men made themselves comfortable as possible, some in the water, and some on the rafts. It was 2:30 a.m., the sea fairly calm, the water warm, the oil thick and slippery and strangling. But they did not curse the oil too bitterly. Without it there might have been sharks. Finally the battle ended. Admiral Ainsworth’s force had wiped out all but two of the Japanese, and those two had stealthily slipped away into some dark part of the gulf. The ships retired. There was a silence and a strange peace. Out beyond the gulf, the flagship asked for a roll call. One by one the ships’ names were read over TBS and checked off. But there was silence when the Helena’s radio name in that engagement was spoken. Again and again the call went out. Then at last the truth had to be faced. In a heavy voice the TBS officer said, “I’m sorry to report, sir – the Helena doesn’t answer.” “The Helena doesn’t answer.” Twelve times in the triumphant aftermath of major engagements, the Helena had promptly answered the roll. This time – silence. On orders from the admiral, a pair of destroyers, the Radford and Nicholas, slipped back into the gulf, feeling their way through the dark. On the alert for the two Japanese ships thought to have escaped destruction, they circled the area on a sweep. Before long one of them sighted the bow of the Helena. What happened then was not the fault of the destroyer men. It was no one’s fault. The object which had been sighted could not be the Helena; it was too small. Since nothing else American was in the gulf, it had to be Japanese. One destroyer opened fire. The men saw her when she did. Huddled about the Helena’s bow, crowded on the lashed rafts or hanging wearily in the water, the men had been unaware of any movement in the darkness until the destroyer’s guns opened up on them. Then the nigh was ripped by flame. Shells screamed into the sea all around Preston and the men of the Helena. It was from this point that we do not know what happened to our brave sailor, Seaman First Class General Preston Douglas. We do not know if he had made it to the small island uninjured and was injured during an attack on the island, or whether he was injured while in the oil slicked water and was brought ashore by the tide or by a fellow shipmate. All that is known is that in June 2006, a resident of Ranongga Island, Solomon Islands, notified U.S. officials that he exhumed human remains and Douglas' dog tag that he found eroding out of the ground near a trail by his village. The officials contacted the Joint POW/MIA Accounting Command (JPAC) who subsequently traveled to Ranongga Island to examine the burial location where they verified that no additional remains were present. Among dental records, other forensic identification tools and circumstantial evidence, scientists from JPAC and the Armed Forces DNA Identification Laboratory also used mitochondrial DNA in the identification of the remains. And some sixty-four years later, Seaman First Class General Preston Douglas is finally brought home to be laid to rest with his sister, Regina Douglas Collins and his brother, Walter Garfield Douglas, Jr. Survivors include five nephews, none of whom personally met their uncle, and one niece. His sister, Regina Douglas Collins had just passed away in November of 2007. This mission was not so much a mission of sorrow and loss, but a mission of celebration that this young man finally got to come home. And it was with great honor that members of the Patriot Guard Riders, AmVets Riders, Rolling Thunder, Chapter 1, The Shiloh Riders and various other individuals, too numerous to mention, joined in this celebration of a return long ago thought to never happen. Ride Captains for this mission were Deb McKay, Duane Romine, Jay Hobbs. Respectfully submitted, Deb McKay Knoxville Area Ride Captain Patriot Guard Riders Source for information regarding the USS Helena: The Fightin'est Ship -- The Story of the Cruiser "Helena" by Lt. C.G. Morris, USNR as told to Hugh B. Cave. Published by Wildside Press, Copyright 1944 by Hugh B. Cave. ISBN 1-59224-161-1

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