Socrates, the Martyr

nounced that breakfast was being served. The inevitable line was formed as the men started for the mess hall. The gloomy silence that had predominated was dispelled somewhat during the meal, but. no one was completely relaxed. It took a long time for fifteen hundred men to pass through the slow-moving line, eat, and then return to the deck. The hot mid-morning sun made the scratchy, woolen uniforms even more uncomfortable. Again the men lined the ship's railing and stared at the docks. Noone heard the engines start, and the movement of the ship was almost imperceptible. The men who finally noticed the widening gap of water between the ship and the dock touched their companions on the shoulder and pointed toward the shore. Conversation hummed then died out as the ship gained speed and the distance from shore increased. The long journey had begun. In spite of the crowded decks, each man seemed to be completely alone with his thoughts; and each man's thoughts were strangely similar. "When will we return? How many of us will get back? What will it be like where we are going?"