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.