While these preliminaries were taking place, a couple of German sailors disappeared into the interior of the submarine, stayed there a moment or two, and then returned to the deck. They had apparently performed a duty that was characteristically German; for a few minutes after they appeared again, the _U-58_ began to settle in the water, and soon afterward sank. These men, obeying orders, had opened the cocks and scuttled the ship--this after the officers had surrendered her! As the submarine disappeared, the men and officers dived and started swimming toward the _Fanning_; four of them became entangled in the radio antennæ and were dragged under the waves; however, in a few minutes these men succeeded in disentangling themselves and joined the swimmers. As the thirty-nine men neared the _Fanning_ it was evident that most of them were extremely wearied and that some were almost exhausted. The sailors from the _Fanning_ threw over lines; some still had the strength to climb up these to the deck, while to others it was necessary to throw other lines which they could adjust under their arms. These latter, limp and wet figures, the American sailors pulled up, much as the fisherman pulls up the inert body of a monster fish. And now an incident took place which reveals that the American navy has rather different ideals of humanity from the German. One of the sailors was so exhausted that he could not adjust the life-lines around his shoulders; he was very apparently drowning. Like a flash Elxer Harwell, chief pharmacist mate, and Francis G. Conner, coxswain, jumped overboard, swam to this floundering German, and adjusted the line around him as solicitously as though he had been a shipmate. The poor wretch--his name was Franz Glinder--was pulled aboard, but he was so far gone that all attempts to resuscitate him failed, and he died on the deck of the _Fanning_.