It was then that Denbigh and O'Hara had yet another example of the thoroughness of the German system. The usual practice would have been to sew the body up in a shotted hammock and throw it overboard, but Kapitan von Riesser had another plan.
One of the boats, with the name "Zwaan—Rotterdam" painted on the stern, was lowered. In it the corpse was placed and the boat turned adrift.
In due course, the kapitan hoped—and the crew, realizing that necessity knows no law, agreed with him—that the boat would be sighted by one of the British cruisers, and thus give the impression that the raider had sunk.
About four on the following morning the two subs were roused by the sudden increase of the revolutions of the propellers, and the frantic tramp of feet on deck.
"Hulloa, what's wrong now?" asked O'Hara. "They've got a move on for something."
"One of our ships in chase, I think," replied Denbigh. "As we are locked in we may just as well go to sleep again. I'd like to wake up and find the hooker hove-to and a prize."
"Not bad advice," rejoined the Irishman, turning over and rolling himself in his blankets. "Thank goodness it's not our watch. If these fellows carry on much farther we'll find ourselves on the way to the South Pole."
Sleep, however, was out of the question. The two chums talked at intervals until the appearance of Fritz warned them that it was time to dress for breakfast.
After the meal the subs found, somewhat to their surprise, that they were not prohibited from going on deck, as was generally the case when another vessel was sighted.
It was piercingly cold. A heavy dew had frozen as it fell, rendering the decks very slippery. Several of the crew were at work with hoses, washing down the planks with salt water in order to clear away the thin coating of ice. So keen was the wind that Denbigh and his companion were glad to take shelter under the lee of the deck-houses.