Count Karl von Sinzig had not started upon his long solo flight in the
Albatross without studiously calculating his chances. He knew the
machine and its capabilities, and, given ordinary luck, he saw no reason
why he should not make a landing on Spanish soil, replenish fuel, and
carry on to his hangar in Estremadura before his hated rival arrived at
Gibraltar. Even if there were delays in obtaining petrol, he still had a
useful lead, thanks to his twelve hours' start in advance of the "Golden
Hind." The two hundred extra miles he had to cover beyond Gibraltar was
a mere bagatelle--a question of an hour and twenty minutes' flight.
He rather regretted that the accident to Z64 had not occurred nearer the
African coast; but realising that he was lucky to be able to carry on,
he ran the risk of a prolonged flight over the sea with comparative
equanimity.
Within an hour of leaving the wrecked Zeppelin he sighted two vessels,
but with callous indifference to his promise to his crew he made not the
slightest attempt to communicate with either of them. He was "all out"
to win the much-needed Chauvasse Prize. Even his indictment by the
various Allied Governments hardly worried him. Time to consider what he
should do in the matter when he was safe on Spanish soil, he decided.
The Albatross, one of the best types of German machines, was practically
an automatic flier. Von Sinzig could keep her on her course by an
occasional pressure with his feet upon the rudder-bar, thus leaving both
hands free. He was able to eat and drink, to study maps and make
observations without risk of the monoplane getting out of control, while
if needs be he could leave the pilot's seat, knowing that the Albatross
would hold on automatically for several minutes with only a slight
deviation in direction and hardly any difference in altitude.
Although only ten degrees north of the Tropics, it was bitterly cold at
ten thousand feet; but the count had taken due precautions to combat the
low temperature. He was warmly clad in orthodox flying kit, including
sheepskin boots, fleece-lined leather jacket and trousers, all
electrically heated. He had four thermos flasks filled with hot coffee
and a pocket flask of brandy. For provisions he carried concentrated
food, beef lozenges, and Strasburg sausages.
Hour after hour passed. The Albatross was flying magnificently, her
pilot holding on to a compass course, after making due allowances for
the "drift" of the air current. He had based this allowance upon the
direction of the wind when he left Z64; but unknown to him the light
breeze had shifted eight points and was now blowing slightly ahead of
his port beam. Then, having backed, it presently veered six points and
blew with increasing force right against the Albatross; but von Sinzig
was for the present in ignorance of the fact. Had he known that instead
of a following breeze of about twenty miles an hour there was a head
wind approaching the neighbourhood of thirty-five miles, he would not
have been so chock-a-block with confidence.
When, at the end of the time limit he had set, he was not in sight of
land he began to feel anxious. Half an hour later, as he was still
without a glimpse of the coast, his misgivings increased, but ten
minutes later he picked up land on his right. This was a puzzle. He had
expected to make a landfall right ahead, and its appearance in an
unexpected quarter mystified him. In point of fact he was in the
neighbourhood of Cape Blanco, or nearly 250 miles south of Cape St.
Vincent, where he hoped to pass over on his way to Estremadura.
A knowledge of the Moroccan coast obtained during a cruise in a German
gunboat at the time of the Agadir crisis stood von Sinzig in good stead.
He was able to recognise certain landmarks in spite of viewing them from
a different aspect, and accordingly he turned the monoplane in a
north-easterly direction, keeping parallel to the African coast, The new
direction would take him a little to the eastward of Cadiz; rather
nearer that port than Gibraltar. He had not the slightest inclination
to fly over the latter fortress. Rather vaguely he wondered whether he
would sight the "Golden Hind" making thither, since, sooner or later,
unless a mishap occurred, the rival aviators must cut each other's
routes.
He was now painfully aware of the change of wind. The direction of the
smoke from several steamers, and the sight of a full-rigged ship running
in a south-westerly direction told him that. Additionally, as he saw by
the aid of his binoculars, that sailing ship was running under topsails
only. That meant something more than a stiff breeze--and against this
he had to contend.
Suddenly he detected an ominous cough of the motor. He knew that the
petrol supply was running low, but he had no idea that the gauge
registered so little. The tank was practically empty.
"Himmel!" gasped the dumfounded Hun. "Will she last out?"
He mentally measured the distance between him and the Spanish coast. A
good ten miles. With a following wind he could glide that distance from
that altitude, but not with this infernal head wind!
The engine was running jerkily. Clearly its spasmodic coughing
betokened the fact that it would soon cease duty from sheer inanition.
Its life-blood was being cut off at the heart of the machine--its petrol
tank. That head wind. How von Sinzig cursed it! Had it been in his
favour, even if he failed to volplane as far as the shore, the
Albatross, being provided with floats, could have drifted on the
surface.
In the midst of his incoherent utterances von Sinzig realised that the
motor had at last given out. He trimmed the ailerons and prepared for a
long glide, but, as he had feared, the head wind made it a matter of
impossibility for the Albatross to cover more than two miles before she
alighted.
It did not take long to complete the volplane, although the pilot nursed
his machine to the best of his ability in the hope of prolonging the
oblique descent.
The Albatross "landed" badly, her floats striking the water with a
resounding smack. The count, having done his best, could do no more.
He sat smoking a cigarette and keeping a look out for a vessel that
would come to his assistance. There were several away to the south'ard,
for he had alighted well to the north'ard of the regular steamer track
between Gibraltar and Cape St. Vincent. They were too far off to notice
the little Albatross.
Then von Sinzig made the disconcerting discovery that the starboard
float was leaking. Already, owing to this cause, the monoplane was
listing so that her starboard wing-tip was touching the water. This
fact, combined with the knowledge that he was momentarily drifting
farther and farther away from land, did not tend to improve the Hun's
peace of mind.
Half an hour later, during which time the monoplane had drifted at least
three miles, and was being considerably buffeted by the rising sea, von
Sinzig noticed that a vessel was bearing down upon the crippled
Albatross.
As she approached, the count saw that she was a small motor-yacht of
about forty or fifty tons, and that she was flying the burgee of the
"Real Club Mediterraneo" and the Spanish ensign. The sight of the
Spanish colours gave von Sinzig renewed hope.
The yacht slowed down and lost way a few yards to the wind'ard of the
monoplane. For so small a vessel she carried a large crew. There were
half a dozen men for'ard, clad in white canvas jumpers and trousers and
wearing red woollen caps. Aft were two gorgeously attired individuals
in gold-laced yachting uniforms.
Von Sinzig, who was a fair Spanish linguist, hailed them. A rope thrown
from the bows of the yacht fell across the nose of the Albatross. This
the count caught and secured.
"Can you supply me with petrol, senor?" asked von Sinzig. "My tank is
empty. A hundred litres will be enough."
One of the gold-laced men shook his head and extended his hands, palms
uppermost.
"I am desolated at being compelled to refuse your excellency's modest
request," he replied, "but we have paraffin engines and carry only a
small quantity of petrol for starting purposes. How far have you come?"
"Nearly round the world," replied the Hun, grandiloquently. He could
not resist the typically Teutonic trait of self-advertisement.
"Dios!" exclaimed the Spaniard, twirling his long moustachios. "Then
you are Count Karl von Sinzig, who left Quintanur, in the province of
Estremadura, sixteen or seventeen days ago?"
"I am," admitted von Sinzig, proudly.
The Spaniard said a few words in an undertone to his companion. The
other's eyes gleamed and he nodded his head vigorously.
"We will take you on board and tow your machine," announced the owner of
the yacht.
"To Cadiz or Huelva?" asked the count.
"Accept ten thousand regrets, count," replied the Spaniard. "We must
take you to Gibraltar."
"But I have no wish to be taken to Gibraltar," declared von Sinzig. "I
will give a thousand pesetas to be landed at Cadiz."
The Don again shrugged his shoulders.
"No doubt my crew would be glad of your offer of a thousand pesetas,
count," he replied, "but since they know that the English have offered a
reward equal to five thousand pesetas----"
"You would sell me?" demanded von Sinzig, furiously.
"I sell you, senor? Not I--a caballero of Spain! You insult me by the
suggestion. I recollect, however, that I once had a brother. He was
lost at sea, while travelling on an English vessel from New York to
Cadiz. Like you, he wanted to land at Cadiz, but he was not able to do
so. For why? Because the ship was torpedoed by one of your
ever-accursed U-boats. Therefore I have a small measure of revenge when
I hand you over to the English authorities at Gibraltar. Be pleased,
senor, to step aboard."
Covered by an automatic pistol, Count Karl von Sinzig had no option but
to obey. In the race round the world he was down and out.