THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS
boats were coming back, loaded to the water's edge. Number Four's crew leaned out and gazed curiously down at the prisoners as they passed toward the boom. A sorry, dejected looking lot they were, thought Nelson. The commander, a tall, yellow-bearded man, was talking to the ensign in charge of the boat, smiling faintly as he gazed up toward the deck. The second boat, filled with dripping men who had been pulled out of the sea, passed next. On the faces of the sailors was a vague terror as they, too, looked apprehensively upward.
"They're expecting to be shot, I suppose," said Jennings. "Well, they deserve it, but they won't be. They'll have a nice easy life of it until the war's over. And plenty to eat, too, and, judging by the looks of 'em now, that's something that'll be welcome."
Nelson, gazing down, felt a tinge of compassion for the captives. They looked so hopelessly resigned to the fate they imagined awaited them. One moon-faced fellow had the temerity to smile up at the clustered rail, but the others scowled sullenly. In the middle of the boat one taller than the rest sat with head dropped on his hands, the picture of dejection.
"Secure!" came the command over the control,
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